


Voltron One-Shots

by IShouldUpdateMore



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal, Bondage, Cop AU, Cop!Lance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gay Smut, Kinks, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Light degrading kink, M/M, Mafia AU, Masochism, Multi, Oral, Sendak - Freeform, Sensory Deprivation, Sex, Shiro - Freeform, Smut, Swearing, body praise, keith - Freeform, lance - Freeform, mafia!Shiro, more tags to be added soon, shance, shance fluff, shance smut, shangst, shklance - Freeform, threesome smut, volporn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:49:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldUpdateMore/pseuds/IShouldUpdateMore
Summary: Shance - AngstShklance - SmutShance - Mafia!AULodak - Dark





	1. Shance - Fluff with smut mentions - "One Last Night"

This was it. He'd been planning it for weeks, but now Shiro was sure it was finally time to break it off with Lance. It wasn't that either of them had done anything wrong, or that their relationship was losing spark, it was just that with each passing day, they were getting closer and closer to being outed as a couple. It had been a month since they'd began secretly dating- when Lance had been stressed and Shiro had been the one to find him in Blue, curled up on the pilots seat and sobbing. (Knelt down beside him, Shiro had pressed a kiss to his forehead and insisted Lance had value to the team, which had turned into kissing in the cockpit and cuddling until the brunet had finally calmed down), but now it was too risky. Twice, in the last week, they'd almost been caught cuddling or kissing and they'd been actually caught by Hunk, making out in Lance's room, only a few days prior. 

  

  

Upon being called to Shiro's room so late, Lance got entirely the wrong idea. Assuming immediately that Shiro was looking for sex while everyone else was sleeping or too busy to hear, Lance was at Shiro's door within a few minutes, smiling as the door opened for him and he stepped inside. Seeing the serious, somewhat grim expression on Shiro's face, Lance immediately got the hint of what was about to happen- what he hoped wouldn't happen- and felt his heart sink like he'd just swallowed a weight. He let the door shut behind him and tapped a button to lock it, walking toward the bed but not sitting down. Shiro looked up at him and a few moments of silence passed. 

  

  

"Am I right in assuming that I'll get the line 'it's better for both of us' tonight?" Lance broke the silence by speaking, and Shiro seemed slightly taken aback by the predictability of this, before nodding.  
"It's too risky for us to stay together like this. Hunk has already seen us together and I don't want any further risks," he explained, often hesitating between words but trailing off, stopping speaking entirely for a moment, so he could think about the most delicate way to phrase this. Lance moved toward him, sitting on the bed beside Shiro. 

  

  

One hand on the older males thigh, Lance looked up at him. "One last night," he said in a low tone, somewhat demanding but in as passive of a tone as possible. Shiro gave him a slightly confused look, understanding what he meant but wanting to know his intentions. "I want to be your boyfriend for one more night." He, after a few moments of hesitation, moved onto Shiro's lap, leaning in so their lips brushed together but faltering- not wanting to be the kind of ex that insists on staying together when it's unwanted- as he waited for Shiro to make the move to bring their lips together- which is exactly what he did, hands resting on the brunet's waist as their lips met. Emotions burnt inside Lance, sadness fading and being smothered by the passion he had to be with Shiro, arms draping around his neck and legs around his waist. He would miss this. He didn't want any of this to stop. 

  

  

A light flush rose on his cheeks at the feeling of familiar hands under his shirt, and Lance couldn't help but shiver at the cold, metal fingers on his body, arching away from the cold on impulse but relaxing into it after only a few moments. He let a small smile appear on his lips while they moved in a rhythm against Shiro's, and all in a moment their tongues were dancing and Lance was permitted playful dominance over the kiss. Hips began moving and friction built up between them, the hands under his shirt pushing the clothing up and making Lance pry himself away from the intoxicating kiss, solely for the shirt to be tugged over his head and on the floor- this happened within seconds, showing that they were both clearly eager to begin that night's activities. 

While their lips weren't locked, Lance pushed Shiro down so the older male was lying back, the friction causing excitement and small noises to be derived from the pair of them. As clothes began coming off properly and the air became thick with sexual tension, their final evening of pleasure at each other's hands began. 

  

  

\- 

  

  

Naked, wrapped in each other's arms and relishing the moments they had, silence filled the room between them. 

  

  

The stench of sex was heavy in the air as Lance's head rested on Shiro's well-built chest, the slow breaths of the older male soothing Lance, even as his heart raced. 

  

They'd been sat like that for what seemed like hours, only twenty minutes of earth time passing before Lance spoke up. "Can we spend tonight like this?" He asked softly as he shifted, getting a little more comfortable on Shiro's lap despite the sharp pain that jolted up his hips, demanding for him not to move. Like he cared. Having no objections to the suggestion, even finding it cute that Lance was persistent like this yet fully accepting of the fact that this time tomorrow, they'd be back to a simple friendship, Shiro nodded to the question. He wasn't even thinking about how Lance would have nobody to talk to about it except for Blue. 

Not even Lance would think about that until the time came. Until then, they were a couple. And they were the damn best couple out there. Hell, despite how there was nothing but an unnerving black abyss on the other side of a glass pane, Lance had somehow managed to truly feel safe while with Shiro. He'd felt like he wasn't at risk of attack or invasion at any second- and sometimes, just sometimes, when his head rested on Shiro's chest and his eyes were closed, he could feel like he was back home. 

  

  

But despite this, they still had countless hours together. It was unimportant how long exactly- because neither of them cared for anything but each other. Lance leant up and their lips met and danced and sparks flew- the same as always. Sparks from the bursting electric sensations bursting inside them both, making Lance's insides melt and a smile grow on his lips. Shiro pulled Lance closer with his arms snaked around the boyfriend's waist, the electricity going off inside his stomach making him fill with emotion as he dominated the kiss, biting at Lance's bottom lip playfully and barely even realising he did it before a giggle made them both have to pull away. 

The brunet was often cute like this when they were alone, his tinted red face buried into the neck of his boyfriend as a few wet kisses plopped onto the skin, landing on scars from dangerous battles, the risen skin being both small from lame wounds and large, jagged, almost ugly. Lance had wondered many times how he'd been kept alive after all this- but with the healing pods that the ship had, it wasn't hard to figure out they'd skipped the long, natural human healing processes by locking Shiro in a pod. 

Maybe he'd nearly died from some of these? He wanted to ask at some point. 

  

  

They sat in comfortable and calm silence, only the sounds of soft breaths in the room. Lance's tan hand rested on Shiro's pale chest while his thumb ran over every little bump that was within reach, studying and memorising the structure of his boyfriend's toned chest while he could. Shiro was warm and comfortable and damn, did he love the affection, even if it was only one arm wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close and the prosthetic resting on his hip, rubbing small circles on his waist with his thumb. 

The little touches made him melt against Shiro, his body entirely relaxed and his breaths light as he lay there, much more comfortable than he'd ever been with anyone else, his head resting on the older male's shoulder. He let out a contented sigh and pressed a soft kiss to a patch of skin with a fading hickey on, deriving a small noise from Shiro that made him glow with some prideful emotion. He loved this. He loved his boyfriend, so much. 

  

  

The blankets were fluffy and warm and smelt of Shiro, so the brunet planned on taking one for comfort when he left to get dressed in his own room. He shifted closer to Shiro, despite already being both on his lap and basically as close as possible, eyes gently closed and his breaths evening as he relaxed further, not taking long at all to doze off into a dreamless and peaceful black abyss. He was warm and felt safe, content by what was happening- honestly, under these circumstances? Lance was glad it was a mutual decision without one of them dying. He was glad that, if anything was going to happen, it would be like this. Who wouldn't be? 

  

  

  

He dozed off after a few moments, the older of the two just holding onto his lover and keeping him close, comfortable and warm, relaxing against his boyfriend while the last little time of their relationship slowly ticked away. He'd, of course, rather they spent it kissing and cuddling, walking around and being shamelessly cutesy, despite how there would be nobody to see it except for the two of them. Shiro's hand ran through Lance's hair and he gently cupped his jaw and looked at the sleeping face of his gorgeous boyfriend. 

Lance's hair was slightly messy, thanks to the sweat that had plastered it to his forehead and Shiro's tendency to play with it. A faint smile rose on his lips as he looked at the brunet that he adored so much, hating this decision- but when they got back to Earth, or when this was over, they could be together properly again. He'd look forward to that. Lance's smooth lips were gently parted, his eyes daintily closed and nothing but serenity and contentment, their closeness clearly proving as a sentiment Lance adored. 

  

  

Shiro envied the calmness the brunet had whilst sleeping, being unable to achieve this himself no matter what he did- what with all the nightmares he got during breaks in his insomnia- so he'd never think to let Lance (or anyone, really) miss out on sleep when tired, provided no lives depended on his consciousness. Shiro let out a soft breath of air, holding Lance closer to himself and peppering along his face with kisses, nuzzling up to his boyfriend as much as possible. 

Lance soon squirmed a little and woke up with a wet kiss being planted onto his cheek, letting out that cute giggle that made sure a bubbly, butterflies feeling arise in Shiro's stomach. Lance leaned in and softly pecked his lips, shifting a little closer to him and wrapping his arms loosely around the older's neck. He'd only napped for a half hour, but he didn't seem to mind the sudden awakening. He let out a soft whine and shifted again, trying to get some pressure off of his sore hips, despite how it wasn't even slightly as painful as usual. His warm body relaxed against Shiro's, despite how he jolted at the coldness of the prosthetic hand on his body. 

  

  

It was when the lights turned onto their usual brightness, a sign that it was deemed morning, that Lance began feeling the lightness of the mood between them dissipate and fade. Shiro brought his boyfriend in for one last kiss, cupping his cheeks and letting his head tilt at a slight angle. Lance immediately reciprocated and their lips moved in a smooth rhythm as their bodies pressed together more, passion for their dying relationship being poured into all of it, and Shiro hadn't realised that this final kiss was making Lance cry until a hot tear slid onto his cheek and ran down his fingers, dripping onto his leg. 

He didn't break the kiss, though, his metal arm wrapping around Lance's waist and bringing him even closer, that first tear soon being followed by another, and another. 

  

Breaking the kiss, Lance moved back and wiped away his eyes with his wrists. He let out a small laugh, pulling his hands away to look up at Shiro. "I'm really glad we're ending it this way," he said with a small smile, that was somewhat forced, but a genuine sign of his relief nonetheless. Shiro returned the smile, though his was no less forced. 

"We'll do it again when we get out of here? Back on Earth?" A few more tears escaped Lance but he grinned widely, genuinely. It wasn't forced. It was cute. 

"Definitely." 

"And that's a promise?" 

  

  

"That's a promise."


	2. Shklance - One - Smut

Lance remembered that it was Keith who'd gotten his attention first- well, that kind of attention first. He'd admired Shiro since he'd first heard about him, but it had only been recent that he'd realised that he liked them both in the same, romantic way. Of course, he was now in a relationship with Keith - Hunk had been the one to tell Lance that the mullet boy felt the same way - but he couldn't help but be afraid of what'd happen if he started liking Shiro more or if Keith found out he liked Shiro.

 

 

Of course, Hunk was the only one he told this kind of stuff, curled up to him at early hours of the morning when he hadn't been able to sleep, and he trusted Hunk with his life, so he wasn't worried about telling the wrong person.

He opened the door to his room and saw Keith sat on his bed, cleaning his blade. It wasn't the first time he'd seen his boyfriend doing this, so it wasn't like it worried him for any reason. He walked inside and shut the door behind him, looking at Keith with a soft smile.

 

 

Now wasn't the time to be thinking of Shiro, or what he'd do if Shiro were sat next to Keith- on his bed, in his room.

 

"Hey, babe." He said as he walked inside, pushing those thoughts out of his head and instead fixing on the boy in front of him. "I'm going to have a quick shower. Can I put a face mask on you tonight? You've been avoiding it for weeks." He said, a small smile on his lips as he spoke but it faltered and quickly disappeared at the lack of response he got.

 

He turned, walking towards Keith instead. "What's wrong?" He asked, sitting down next to him. Keith turned to him, a mix of irritation and something Lance couldn't recognise on his features as the black haired male put the knife down on the bedside table.

"So how long have you wanted to be with Shiro instead?" He asked, and Lances eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt evident on his features as he quickly spoke up for himself.

"What? I don't want to be with Shiro instead of with you!" He objected, his tone not quite argumentative and instead, it sounded like more of an... embarrassed objection- as if he hadn't expected, nor wanted, to be called out on this. Especially not tonight. It's not like he was being dishonest when he said that, anyway.

 

 

He wanted to be in a relationship with Shiro and Keith, not one or the other.

"Be honest, Lance," Keith said, his tone neither angry nor upset (a strange thing for someone like Keith), but Lance didn't dwell on it, not even during his half-second hesitation before speaking again.

"Yeah, I want to be with Shiro, but-- but not just him. I want it to be the three of us! I love you, but I also feel the same way towards Shiro!" He said, being entirely honest. Keith kept stern, eye contact for a few moments before a small smile curled onto his lips and he noticeably relaxed.

 

Lance, on the other hand, immediately let confusion cover his features, worried why now, of all times, it was worth smiling.

"Thank fuck," Keith said, and in any other situation Lance would have scolded him for his language- simply out of impulse from having a large family and younger siblings back home- but instead he stayed silent, his confusion only growing as he kept his gaze on Keith, cocking his head to the side a little.

 

"I thought I was the only one," Keith said as he looked over at Lance, whose eyes immediately widened out of surprise, having not expected that kind of response.

"Really?" He asked, leaning a little closer to Keith. "You like Shiro too?" He asked, tilting his head, Keith blushed- a small thing that was saved mostly for when the aggressive male was with Lance, whether they were talking or doing something else. He nodded, wrapping his arms around the brunet and dragging Lance down on top of him.

 

"I know what to do." He smirked, his eyes fixed on his boyfriends.

 

-

 

Keith hadn't specified exactly what it was, brushing it off every time that Lance tried to question him about something - anything - to do with what he was planning. Of course, he had full faith in his boyfriend but he was anxious about what exactly would happen between them all.

After all, he didn't want to make things awkward but fuck, he wanted Shiro. And yet, each day that passed brought him closer to finding out exactly what was happening. Three days slowly passed and the next evening, Lance had attempted to get some exercise done on the training deck, so while he was walking home his mind was too occupied on the shower he'd take and what face mask he'd use today, but little did he know that his boyfriend had already made other plans for them that evening.

 

He opened the door to his room and instantly his face lit up red as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him after a second or two. There, restrained to his bed with rope and two pairs of handcuffs, was Shiro, his legs spread wide and nothing covering him up.

Shiro couldn't see this happening, or hear it, or anything, as Keith had put not only a blindfold onto the older male, but a gag and some noise-blocking headphones. Whatever music was playing on them being one of the things Lance was least concerned about at the moment. What he was more focused on at this moment in time, was that Shiro was erect, and had no way to hide it.

 

"Surprise~" Keith cooed as he left the bathroom, making Lance jump slightly in surprise, his blush quickly darkening further.

"This isn't what I expected when you said you 'knew what to do.'" He mumbled, too flustered to speak up and slightly worried that Shiro would hear, despite knowing he couldn't.

"Well, I was planning on something less kinky, but he didn't mind being put in the restraints." He said, shrugging lightly and pulling Lance close with two hands on his waist.

 

The brunet didn't have much, or anything, against being pulled into a kiss, not even minding as he was pushed against the wall by the slightly shorter male, tangling one hand in Keith's hair. Their lips moved in a smooth, passionate rhythm with each other, Keith being undeniably dominant compared to Lance, who was finding the entire situation unreal in the first place.

Fingertips brushed against his skin as his shirt was pushed up slightly, the delicate brushes of Keith's fingertips along Lance's skin making the brunet lean into the touch, his body arching off of the wall behind him in a slight curve, already needy for as much contact as he could get.

 

Before anything could escalate from kissing, though, Keith pulled away and licked his lips. "Let's not keep the fun to ourselves, hmm~?" He purred, Lance blushing up to his ears as realisation set in at not only what Keith meant but what that he'd wanted to happen for so long was finally happening. Keith was the first to move towards Shiro but wasn't going to even touch him, licking his lips a little.

 

"He's been like this for a short while, so he must be pretty sensitive by now." He said, Lance following behind Keith and getting an idea, glancing at his boyfriend and making a lewd gesture, the other nodding as a smirk curled onto his lips. Lance then moved so he was on the bed between the older males' legs, seeing him tense a little as the weight was added to the bed as if he was anticipating something happening.

Lance hesitated, wanting to keep Shiro in anticipation for a short while longer, before slowly leaning down-careful for Shiro not to feel his hot breath anywhere- and, still moving slowly as if he wanted to spend more time seeing Shiro tense, waiting for something to happen, parted his pink lips, then running his tongue over the slit of the older males' erect member.

 

He watched as Shiro tensed more, sharply inhaling from around the gag and clenching his fists a little while Keith, who'd been leant against the wall to the left of the bed, took his eyes off of the erotic sight of his boyfriend teasing the restrained older male.

He made his way to the door and made sure it'd locked when it shut behind Lance, who didn't pay attention to what Keith was doing, already addicted to pleasuring Shiro, moving so his crotch pressed against the bed and rutting against it a little, craving friction or some kind of pleasure.

 

 

His tongue slid from between his wet lips again and he slowly swirled the pink muscle around the others tip, making sure it was covered in a shiny sheen of thick saliva before he pulled away, licking his lips slowly. He looked down at Shiro's face, his own cheeks dusted red, although he was barely blushing compared to the male beneath him, and he quickly found himself wanting to see him blushing like that more.

 

He couldn't help but think of how badly he was wanting the male to see Lance as he did this- but he knew better than to remove the blindfold. Besides, part of him wanted it kept on so that Shiro didn't know what the brunet was about to do to him, smirking at the thought of it and finding that a lot better. For now, at least.

He leant back down, slowly trailing his tongue from the base of Shiro's erection up to the tip, before closing his lips around his member and sucking lightly, keeping the flicks of his tongue the slight bobbing of his head controlled and teasingly slow.

 

Lance knew he couldn't fit the whole length into his mouth- he had the same difficulty with Keith- and instead slowly curled his fingers around the base of Shiro's member, stroking his erection with slow, steady movements, making the restrained male buck his hips hard, soft noises slipping from between his lips and coming out muffled through the gag. Maybe Keith would let him take it off Shiro after a while because Lance definitely wanted to see if he could make someone like Shiro beg.

The brunet slowly took more into his mouth, bobbing his head and making Shiro's member slick with saliva, Keith tangling one hand into Lances hair and pushing his head down a little, making the brunet take more of the hard erection into his mouth until it hit the back of his throat, letting out a soft noise that Keith took as his hint to pull his hand back.

 

Shiro arched a little, bucking his hips into Lance's mouth. The brunet groaned softly at the feeling, the tip hitting the back of his throat again as he'd only pulled off a little a second ago, feeling the other do it again, liking the change in pace a lot more and continuing to fuck the back of Lance's throat, the brunet's eyes going half-lidded for the pleasure of it, sucking a little harder in response and moving his tongue more, sloppy slurping noises becoming the only sound, apart from Shiro's muffled moans.

Keith pinned Shiro's hips down after a moment and Lance slowly started pulling off, flicking his tongue over the tip again, slower this time, and letting the taste of pre-cum invade his mouth, dancing on his tongue. He dipped his tongue into the slit, wanting to savour the taste before he slowly pulled off, unwrapping his hand from around Shiro's member.

 

Lance glanced up at his boyfriend and, with his lips swollen and a darker red than usual, seemed too tempting for Keith as he cupped Lance's cheeks and pulled him into a kiss that could only be described as hungry. The brunet's lips looked too delicious for the other to resist the sloppy and needy kiss that followed, but Lance was the one to pull away, glancing back at Shiro and repeating what Keith had said to him earlier.

"Let's not keep the fun to ourselves, hmm~?" He asked, his tone more pleaded than purred but purely because of how needy and horny he was, craving every little touch he was getting but prying himself away from the addicting kiss of his dominant lover, wanting to get attention from Keith while hearing Shiro's pleasured noises, whether through the gag or not.

 

Keith rolled his eyes and slapped Lance's ass, making him gasp and moan softly, arching for more but forcing himself to focus. He moved back onto the bed, getting Shiro's attention but still, he didn't move. He didn't even move when he felt the second person's weight joining him on the bed, and Lance knew that even with the blindfold and headphones on, the older male could tell that there were two people there. With Keith having led him in here, it wouldn't be hard for Shiro to guess that Lance was his partner in crime- or in entirely legal threesomes, at least.

The brunet started to tug down the shorts he'd been wearing for the exercise, keeping on his panties (He wore them for Keith. Blue lace) as he crawled more on top of Shiro, leaning to his bare chest and starting to kiss it, biting and sucking with a slight messiness that was border-lining sloppy.

 

Marks were already beginning to surface on Shiro's bare skin and Lance glanced up at Keith, who was slowly running his hands along the older's body, letting them dance over and feel every toned muscle on his body, before one wandered back up to his chest, the other staying low and dangerously close to Shiro's crotch, but going no lower, as if they both wanted to see him at his neediest and horniest.

Lance spoke up first out of them both, having just bitten down hard on the others collarbone and earning himself a muffled moan in pleasure as a reward.

"When will we take off the gag?" He asked, speaking quietly in case the music had toned down or anything, but Keith only smirked.

"He'll be a lot tenser soon. I'll take it off then." He said, so much certainty in his voice that it almost made Lance wonder how he knew that, before he soon fixed his attention back on the man beneath him, not wanting to distract himself from what he'd wanted so long.

 

Keith let one hand run along Shiro's v-line, slowly moving it closer to his crotch but pulling back before he could get too close, keeping his movements as slow and teasing as possible while the quick rising and falling of the older's breathing and the muffled noises turned him on more. He ran his other hand higher up, brushing it over Shiro's nipple and feeling him move slightly- as if briefly tensing. He smirked, leaning down and pressing his lips to the skin, running his tongue over the pink flesh and moving it a little slower as it ran over the bud of his nipple.

He kept that sensation short and sweet, though, pulling back before Shiro could get too much pleasure and smirking to himself, noticing how much more tense the older was but still not finding it good enough, letting his hand wander slower.

 

A loud gasp and moan broke the almost silence of the room - save for the ruffling of sheets and the sloppy noises of lips and tongues on skin - as Keith's hand closed around Shiro's wet member, starting to slowly move his hand in controlled strokes. Lance remembered not expecting Keith to be as gentle as that at certain points, but when his boyfriend wanted to tease (and he meant that at in really tease, the type where he left the other needy and almost begging within minutes), he was slow and controlled.

The brunet blushed at the erotic sight of them both, finding himself craving Keith's touch and hoping he'd soon have the male to himself, but a side glance and a smirk from his boyfriend made him turn his attention back to Shiro.

 

 

He pulled back once he was satisfied with the sweet noises he'd gotten from Shiro, looking over at Keith and gesturing for him to come over. Lance smirked as he leant to the others ear and spoke in a soft whisper (all the while slowly caressing and squeezing the older males' thigh so he wouldn't miss out on any contact), asking his boyfriend if he would be 'so kind as to stretch him out' so that he could feel Shiro's full erection inside him. Hell- even the idea of it excited him.

 

He didn't even get a response before one hand slid along his body and to his ass, pulling down the panties he was wearing- and from how quickly they were tugged off, Lance could tell Keith was starting to get impatient. He heard a drawer open behind him and more than one thing was removed, the first being a small bottle of lube and the second being a cockring that Lance knew wasn't for him, and was instead for Shiro. He didn't know what Keith was going to do that made him need to give the oldest male a cockring, and he didn't even bother questioning him about it, knowing that there was no point in asking because he wouldn't get an answer from Keith. That was how it happened most of the time, anyway.

 

The brunet watched Keith's pale hands slide the cockring onto the large erection in front of the Cuban male before one hand was tangled into his hair as Keith leant to his ear. "Open your mouth and do what you were doing earlier. I'll stretch you out when you start doing that." He said, and Lance didn't feel the need to speak as he nodded, glancing back and meeting Keiths eyes, blushing dark. 

 

Lance didn't need to be told twice, licking his lips before parting them and again, running his tongue over the still-wet tip of Shiro's erection, before slowly taking the erection into his mouth and continuing to swirl his tongue around the hard tip in his mouth. Spreading his legs more and flaunting his ass toward Keith, Lance blushed darker, unable to ask what he wanted with an inch of dick in his mouth, but it was only a few moments before he felt two lubricated fingers pushed inside him, making his breath catch before he moaned loud, his walls tight and twitching around the digits suddenly inside of him.

 

His arms felt weak so he dropped to the point where he was resting on his elbows, this action causing him to take in another three or four inches of the hard erection that was now almost at the back of his throat. He moaned louder, sending vibrations along Shiro's erection and hearing a loud moan of agreement from Shiro, who was clearly enjoying that sensation and wishing that he was allowed to cum. Lance arched more and cried out around the cock in his mouth when a third finger entered him, lewd noises spilling from his lips and making Shiro moan, Keith being the only one who wasn't a naked, horny mess. Lance wouldn't let that be the case next time.

 

Keith began scissoring Lance with the three fingers, pumping them all quickly and hearing the muffled lewd noises from both of the males underneath him get a little louder, his erection getting painfully tight in his pants as he used his free hand to rub himself, eventually tugging his pants down enough to get the pressure off of his hard cock. Lance was weak to every little touch he could get, his back arching more as pleasure coursed through his body, making his skin tingle with heat and pleasure and for more, louder moans emit from the back of his throat.

 

This evidently got a positive reaction from Shiro, whose noises were getting a lot louder and even needier, to an extent, through the gag. Lance wanted to hear Shiro loudly, as loudly as he could, and it was clear that Keith was thinking the same thing as he was, as the other paladin pulled his fingers out and reached around to the back of the gag, undoing it and pulling the drool-covered toy out of his mouth, lazily discarding it onto the floor. Lance felt Keith push his head down a little and he moaned again, causing Shiro to moan a lot louder, now without anything to stop his noises from being as loud as they could be. 

 

Lance sucked harder and slightly sloppier until Keith let him pull away again, clearly having decided that while the smaller male had barely been stretched, it'd be enough for him to start riding the restrained older male. Lance glanced back at Keith, just to make sure that he didn't have to tease the older male anymore, and removed the cockring before positioning himself. He didn't want Shiro to be in pain because of the cockring being on too long. He began lowering himself slowly down onto the older male's erection, already feeling the tip of Shiro's erection leaking inside him. 

 

A lewd and almost shamefully loud moan spilled from the older male's lips as the saliva worked like lube, Lance's tight, warm hole causing the older male's moans to quickly get louder and a slightly less controlled, as it was becoming that much more obvious about how close he was coming to his climax. Keith smirked at that, finding the sight incredibly erotic and beginning to stroke his own erection through his tight pants, groaning softly as he moved toward Lance, spreading the brunet's legs more. The Cuban male arched at the painfully pleasuring feeling of Shiro entering him, his head rolling back as a soft curse of pleasure escaped his lips. He moaned, a lewd noise spilling from his lips that caused the only other male in the room who could hear it to shiver.

 

Shiro bucked his hips from where he was, causing Lance to take in around another inch of the male's erection and making him moan louder, suddenly arching forward and placing his hands on Shiro's toned and muscular chest. His hold tightened to the point where his long nails dug into the older male, and this clearly got a positive reaction from Shiro. 

 

It wasn't until the tan boy lowered himself fully onto Shiro's cock that the older male came heavily, burying his seed deep inside Lance and causing him to gasp and shiver, before he began rocking his hips, soft groans and moans gliding past his lips at the sensation of Shiro inside him like this that he'd been wanting for fuck knows how long. 

 

Keith moved toward Shiro, stripping himself of his shirt and soon working on removing his pants, too. He looked at the brunet, silently wishing that Lance had been the one to undress Keith, or that Shiro had been, but now wasn't time to complain. He was soon stripped fully, looking at Shiro and caressing his cheek, before pushing his thumb into the older males mouth and making sure it was open. He was trying to give him some kind of hint about what he was going to do by pushing the thumb inside his mouth, but he didn't want to wait and see if it worked, pulling away a little and moving so that he was straddling Shiro's torso, leaning down to push the tip of his erection into the mouth of the restrained male.

 

Lance couldn't quite see what was happening between his boyfriend and the man beneath them both, but with the view he was getting of Keith's perfect ass, he wasn't sure whether he cared or not. He started to rock his hips quicker, groans getting louder and he could hear Shiro's response groans getting quieter, as if muffled, as Keith pushed a little more of his shaft inside the older male's mouth. A curse escaped Shiro, making Keith suddenly buck his hips to push his dick further into the other's mouth, and Shiro grunted in response to that, his breaths uneven as he closed his lips properly around the digit in his mouth and began sucking.

 

Lance kept rocking his hips, soon lifting his hips up and slamming them back down again, panting and moaning as he half-fell forwards, all the pleasure of having Shiro's cock fucking him like this was so overwhelmingly good and Lance craved more of it. He began moving quicker while moaning out both Shiro and Keith's name, one hand finding his shoulder where he dug his nails in hard, trying to latch onto something and push away the lust and pleasure before he drowned in it. He squeezed his eyes shut, bucking his hips hard and feeling Shiro just teasing at hitting a certain spot, Lance rocking his hips quicker while he tried to get the erection deep inside him to hit that pleasuring spot.

Curses and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the room after moments, and before long Lance's back arched and he cried out so loudly, so lewdly, it was almost a scream of pure ecstasy and pleasure. His nails dug harder into his boyfriend's shoulder and he began to draw blood, but he couldn't tell whether the reaction that that dragged out of his boyfriend was positive or negative- all that mattered was that he was allowed to keep his grip on his boyfriend, no matter how harsh it was.

 

Keith shuddered at the lewd noises that suddenly filled the room so loudly, adoring how Lance sounded while he was being fucked, despite silently hating that it wasn't him making his boyfriend this loud. He felt Shiro's lips close around his erection, warmth and wetness suddenly being the only sensations on such a small part of his erection that it didn't feel like enough- it /wasn't/ enough- and Keith found himself pushing in another inch and a half before he'd even realised how his hips were moving.

 

A low moan rumbled from the back of Shiro's throat at the digit in his mouth and the sensations on his crotch, that the noises teased the tip of Keith's cock in such an erotic yet small and simple manner that it made Keith want more noise to come from Shiro, wanting him to moan more so he could get more of all the extra little pleasures he was used to only getting from Lance, whose nails were causing soft drops of blood to trail down his back- but he didn't care about the small bursts of sharp pain in this state.

 

Cum spraying across his chest and Shiro's body, Lance threw his head back upon letting out an ecstatic cry that ended up a mix of Shiro and Keith's names, his back arching. His hips didn't stop moving for a few moments afterwards as he allowed himself to ride out the afterglow of his climax, still grunting and moaning softly before pulling off, stroking Shiro's wet member as it ached, twitching for release. Lance leant over to his boyfriend, leaving kisses along his neck and gliding his tongue over a few spots that he knew to be sensitive, nipping and sucking softly.  
"Mm, can we let him cum now?" He asked softly as he pressed close to Keith, his hands running along his body.

 

Nodding after a moment, moans still escaping him as he pushed more of his erection into Shiro's mouth- face flushed and barely able to speak, Lance could tell Keith was nearing his climax. He closed his lips around the tip of the elder's erect cock and allowed him to cum in his mouth. He pulled back and swallowed thickly, taking a moment to swallow again before having a clear mouth. The release drove Shiro to cry out in pleasure, the name escaping him- despite being heavily muffled- was clearly Keith's.

 

A small pang of jealousy in Lance made the brunet frown- but only for a moment before he dismissed it. He'd been the one to make(and let) Shiro cum, after all. Shaking off the jealousy, Lance pressed a little closer to Keith, kissing and sucking on his neck to mark him, making sure that the marks he left were, as always, easy to cover up. Keith soon came, throwing his head back and allowing Lance to kiss more of his neck and some of his jawline. 

 

Pulling away after a moment and watching his boyfriend pull back, Lance sat back on the bed. Careful not to put too much pressure on his ass (he knew it would hurt after having a length like Shiro's inside him), Lance watched his boyfriend remove the restraints he'd put on Shiro, collecting their clothes from the floor while the newly-unrestrained Shiro removed his headphones, then the blindfold, and gave Lance a small smile. His attention was soon put onto Keith as boxers were thrown at him (they hit him in the face), and Shiro pulled on the boxers. Lance was assaulted by a thrown pair of boxers next and he didn't hesitate to cover himself up a little.

 

 

Keith sat beside Shiro with Lance on the older males opposite sides and he couldn't help but feel a little hurt that his boyfriend wasn't sitting beside him. He mirrored it as Keith nuzzled up to Shiro, being a little more hesitant as he rested his head on the elder male's shoulder, turning a little red as he felt a cold, metal arm wrap around him and pull him closer still. Keith was entirely nuzzled up to Shiro, smiling a little as he took the hand of the arm snaked around his body, with Lance holding his Shiro's hand. Keith leant over and pecked his lips softly before Shiro lay down- subsequently bringing the two teens down to lie with him.

 

 

They lay there in silence, the peaceful quiet only being broken by soft breaths and occasional yawns, before the tiredness the evening's activities had brought caused them all to doze off. Lance first, of course, then Keith, and finally Shiro, their little cuddle pile just being too comfy and warm for them to keep awake.

 

And they all doubted that they'd be able to get up in the morning.


	3. Shance - Mafia Shiro x Cop Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part one to a mafia!AU one-shot (two-shot? maybe three??) I'm co-writing with a friend of mine who's asked to stay anonymous.

Finally.

Lance studied himself in the wing mirror as he stayed parked by the warehouse. His badge was shining perfectly. Finally he had completed his first case and was going to complete a drug bust in the warehouse of the largest town mafia. Hopefully, in a couple hours time, he’d be back in the precinct with around fifty arrested mafia members. He grinned childishly to himself, loading his gun. He stood and dashed toward the warehouse, masked by the cover of the evening darkness. It was early autumn so it was slightly chilly and already quite dark. He plastered himself against the door, several officers behind him. He knew he was supposed to wait for backup but the cars were only five minutes away and he was sure he’d be fine. He didn’t hesitate.

 

Kicking in the door to the facility, Lance charged. He held his gun out, pointing it at any and every mafia member near to him. “Get down on the ground! Get on the fucking ground! You’re under arrest!” he would shout at the others, allowing the other officers to deal with them as he pushed upstairs. He held his gun close as he pushed through every door.

Adrenaline was pumping through his body but he had to avoid showing any emotions and he needed to stay focused on the mission. He pushed open door after door, almost all of which leading to empty rooms. He heard murmuring from the next door along, just one voice, and shifted to press his whole weight against the door to listen in. His fingers curled around the handle.  
His eyes widened as he recognised the voice- Takashi Shirogane, mafia name Kuro. It was him. The male was damn near famous in their city. There were audio recordings and blurry images of him all around the precinct. It would be insane if he managed to arrest /the/ Takashi Shirogane on his first case. He was getting ahead of himself- he should have known. Charging in there was going to be a stupid choice but he wasn’t thinking of anything other than his potential fame. All of the superiors of his that had degraded him and told him he’d amount to nothing would take back their words. He was going to arrest Takashi Shirogane. He had to. There was nothing stopping him. His fame was just one door and a pair of handcuffs away.

 

Perfect. 

Perfect was Shiro’s favorite word. Perfect, perfectly, perfection. He used it when things went well, and he used it when things went sour. A certain amount of oily sarcasm can change just about any positive word into a negative one real quick, and Shiro always felt that a bitter perfect worked just right in any case scenario. 

Perfect had been the word most prominent in his mind as he sat in that rusted metal chair in his favorite warehouse. Of course, this time it wasn’t very negative, because the sale really was going rather smoothly. Every word of his well rehearsed bargaining script left his lips with perfect, casual ease while he spoke with Sendak about buying his considerably large amount of cocaine. He knew Sendak had the cash. He also knew Sendak wanted to take the bite. Of course, the gruff representative of Zarkon’s gang always needed a bit of coaxing -- it was how the man worked. Luckily for Shiro, coaxing was his strong point. 

“This’ll be enough to last the Galra about… hm… I don’t know. A few months or so? Maybe more if you ration. Depending how you split it all up,” Shiro said in a sugary little hum, leaning back into his chair. 

Sendak, as rigidly stoic as ever, narrowed his eye a little. The man was huge -- tall and bulky. His most defining features, however, was the patch over his right eye, and a rather frightening looking prosthetic in place of his left arm. “You said that last time, Kuro,” he grumbled in his heavy, rumbling voice. “It only lasted us a month, and even then the rations were pitiful.” 

Shiro shrugged. “I told you, it all depends on how you split it up. What you sell and don't sell.” 

“And why should I believe you?” Sendak growled. 

“Because,” Shiro hummed, his grin becoming a big sharkish. “I’m the biggest seller in the city. I know my shit, handsome.” 

Sendak’s lips twitched into the softest of smirks. “Then I guess we’ll try this again,” he said slowly, easing his posture a little. He gestured the stash with his prosthetic, the gigantic thing whirring like a beast. “Let’s get this started then.”

Perfect. 

Shiro leaned forward, still smiling with that devilish grin. He lifted his own prosthetic -- a sleek, chrome colored one that he felt put Sendak’s to shame -- and snapped his fingers. A man behind him with long hair and a scar running up his right cheek fell into attention. “Keith,” Shiro said sweetly. “Give the man what he wants.” 

“Yes, sir.” Shiro didn't have to turn and look to see Keith’s smirk -- he could hear it in the man’s tone.

Keith went over to the crates, meeting up with one of Sendak’s men. Shiro glissed his eyes from the stash back over to Sendak, and stood up. He crossed his arm over his chest, and flipped his white bangs from his eyes. 

“As long as we don’t get any trouble from the pigs, I think we’re perfect for business, buddy,” Shiro hummed with a wink. 

God, if only that was the case. 

 

Three people were in the room a least. He could tell that much. Was it going to be foolish to kick open a door with only a pistol when there were at least three armed drug lords inside? Definitely. Would that stop Lance from doing exactly that? No. Inside that door there were three people he could take down and cocaine to be recovered. He would be damn near famous if this was successful. He could take three people.

The adrenaline was stopping him from thinking this through. He kicked open the door and ducked inside, gripping tightly to his gun as his gaze scoured the room.  
“Everyone down on the fucking ground! There are more officers downstairs, you’re surrounded!” Okay, wow, this was definitely a poor choice. Three had been a very, very poor guess. Just from a glance he could see seven people, eight counting someone just out of sight behind Sendak. He grit his teeth and continued regardless. “You have the right to remain silent!” He began though his voice was starting to shake. “A-Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law!”

 

Shiro couldn’t deny he had flinched quite heavily when the door to his right exploded open with a hearty bang. It caught him off guard -- wildly so. Getting caught off guard wasn’t usually something Shiro enjoyed. 

His spiked nerves, however, settled down when he heard the usual ‘everyone down on the fucking ground’ speal. In the trembling voice of a pig, no doubt. Keith, from his peripheral, was already reaching for the gun strapped to his waist. 

“Keith,” Shiro sighed impatiently. “What did I say? No shooting unless I tell you to.” 

Keith looked at Shiro and shrugged. 

The police officer was still barking out the usual orders from behind him, but Shiro didn't quite know if he had the care to even turn around. Sendak’s eye was rolling far back into his skull, his real hand already patting for his gun with the utmost boredom Shiro had ever seen. 

A sharp, “I told you to remain silent!” shouted out from by the door, the boy’s voice still unbelievably tremulous. “Now get down on the ground.” 

Shiro nodded along, shrugging a bit. “I was just telling Keith here not to kill you,” Shiro hummed in a low drawl. He began to turn around. “But if you insist offic-” 

But he stopped. 

Because the officer who stood at the door was absolutely terrified. Shiro recognized the look of pure regret and peril plastered about the man’s face. He stood, legs shoulder width apart, gun held out in his shaking grip. His wide eyes were shifting rather anxiously to each and every other face in the room. He looked incredibly young and fragile to Shiro in that moment. He looked like a man all alone. 

He looked like a man unable to pull a trigger... 

It struck a chord Shiro hadn’t even thought about for what had to be years now. 

 

“Cover your ears, Kuro,” Sendak sighed, the sounds of a gun being cocked joining his grumble. “Let’s waste this guy quick.” 

Lance flinched as he heard Sendak say that. He immediately turned to point his gun at him instead, his finger resting hesitantly on the trigger. He didn’t want to kill someone but it was him or Sendak. He didn’t want to shoot him. He didn’t want to shoot anyone.

Shiro held out a hand towards Sendak. “Let’s not be hasty, Senny-boy,” he said, and relief overwhelmed Lance, his hold loosening slightly. Only slightly.

“Why the hell not?” Sendak snapped, the rage of his little pet name apparent in his thunderous snarl. 

“Duh. Look at him,” Shiro laughed. “He’s, like, seven. And he doesn’t have any backup. And he’s not going to shoot that gun.” 

 

Lance glanced between the two and heat rose to his cheeks in humiliation. He was about to argue indignantly and defend himself, claiming that he would shoot, but he then realised that it would be unbelievably stupid to announce anything like that so he kept quiet. His gaze was fixed on Shiro, though, occasionally flickering to Sendak. Was Takashi genuinely suggesting that they don’t shoot him? He wasn’t a man known for being nice or patient but he was willing to attempt to convince someone who appeared to be his superior not to shoot him?  
He would usually question it but right now he was just thankful that he might not die. Where the hell was the backup? It felt like it had been at least five minutes by now. They should have been there. He gripped tighter to the gun to try to stop his hands from shaking as much.

He was so undeniably stupid. Choosing to kick in that door without backup was stupid. Thinking that he could take out three people was stupid when he can’t even shoot one that threatens his life. He was stupid. He was downright fucking dumb.

Hopefully this would be a tale that he could lie about to impress girls at bars or a funny story to tell others in the precinct. Anything. He was just hoping it wouldn’t be a story told at his eulogy.

 

“So, Officer,” Shiro started up again rather loudly. He turned a sugared smile the officer’s way. “I suggest you lower your gun, and we have a little chat. Wouldn’t want to keep my pal here too antsy. He’s got quite the trigger finger, don’t you Sen?” 

Sendak grunted in return. 

Lance nudged the door shut behind him and moved his finger off of the trigger, losing his stance and releasing the gun with his left hand. He was dead silent, still no idea what to say or do. He held his hands up either side of his head, the gun in his right. He warily eyed the men. He didn’t like being so vulnerable. He didn’t like how Sendak was looking at him. He didn’t like how he felt Takashi was toying with him.

Shiro gave a chuckle. “Atta’ boy,” he said slickly. He began moving forward -- stepping with a slow, grandeur sort of stride. He watched the nervous officer, studying the man’s face up down and around. Soft tawny skin. Long, oval face with a sharp jaw and strong cheekbones. Short brown hair that fell about his forehead in soft tufts and curls. A smaller, cute shaped nose, a bit pointed at the end. Deep blue eyes, twisting with the waves of a boisterous sea from even across the room. 

Cute. 

Shiro stopped and cocked his head. His hand patted for the cigarettes in his pants pocket. “Name?” 

“Kuro this isn’t time to be an ass the little bastard says there's backup-” Sendak started in a growl. 

Shiro held up a hand, and Sendak stopped with an irritated huff. 

Lance had to avoid the instinct to run or to at least move away from Shiro. He was terrified and that much was evident from the look on his face alone but he wasn’t going to step down and lose dominance (not even when he wasn’t sure he had any). He grit his teeth a little. “Lance,” he answered after a moment, using all of his willpower to stop his voice from shaking as he looked up at Takashi. His eyes flickered to the hand at his back pocket and his mind initially went to ‘it’s a gun’ but he tried his hardest not to act like he was thinking about it.

His eyes then flickered up to Takashi’s face. He met strong grey eyes, tormented and exposed to horrors Lance wouldn’t even be able to imagine. His jaw was square and his jawline was sharp. He had a scar, jagged, across the bridge of his nose and lance didn’t even know what it could have come from. His eyes flickered to Takashi’s body for just a moment. He was incredibly well-built. He looked strong, approximately six ft four and 210ibs.

That was when Lance noticed the prosthetic. There were never fingerprints at crime scenes- that must have been why! He would have to tell that to the precinct. He’d need to have someone do an official police sketch of Shiro, too, so they’d know what he looked like.

He wanted to get out of this. He generally wanted to survive but he knew so much information that was valuable to the precinct now. He knew so much. This could help so fucking much. 

His gaze flickered to the others in the room and he took in their faces as much as he could, absorbing the information needed to complete police sketches and have a decent profile of them. He focused back on Shiro as soon as he was satisfied, though, figuring he should focus on the… conversation they were having.

 

Shiro already held the cigarette between his lips, cupping a hand over his mouth as the other tried to start his lighter. Done, he took a long drag, held his breath a moment, and then let it all out in one mesmerising plume of smoke, the cigarette now between his fingers. He gave Lance another smile. 

“Lance, hm?” He said. “Pretty name. I’m sure you already know who I am then, huh pet?” 

He waited for Lance to nod before he continued. 

“Well, Officer Lance, we have a bit of a problem here.” Shiro paused to take another drag. “How about this: I let you live. You keep your mouth shut. We figure out you ratted us out, we cut your tongue off. You like that? Give me your honest opinion. Really.” All of that was said with smoke furling out past his grinning lips. It twisted into the air like a veil, the scent heavy about the warehouse now. 

 

Taking an instinctive step back st the threat, Lance nodded, his eyes flickering warily around the room. “Y-Yes. That is quite an issue. Uh- I- I like the sound of the offer. It’s… it’s very tempting. I like the idea of keeping my tongue, too, that made the offer quite appealing.” He rubbed his arm anxiously, glancing at the door behind him. He wasn’t stupid enough to try to run, thankfully.

“I… mm…” he didn’t know what to say. He could say what he needed and just… stay in the precinct or in a safe house or even in witness protection but… it was too risky. He couldn’t take that risk. He nodded. “I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer for the sake of my tongue. I- Can I get some cocaine or something to take back to the precinct? I only want a small bag of it.” He almost felt how stupid he sounded. Asking fucking mafia drug lords to just give him a little cocaine so that he wouldn’t go back to the precinct empty-handed. “Or someone irrelevant to arrest?” Shut up! Why couldn’t his mouth stop before he said the stupid shit?

Shiro couldn’t help but laugh. He gave a harsh bark of a chuckle, throwing his head back. He looked over his shoulder towards Sendak, giggling a little. “You got someone irrelevant to arrest, Sen?” He laughed. “I’d rather give up your goonies than my cocaine.” 

“We’re not giving that little shit anything. I suggest you figure out your place and get in it, Kuro,” Sendak hissed. The man was becoming quite irritated -- more impatient and rattled than before. Shiro could hear the heated malice arise in his deep, throaty tone. 

It left an unconscious chill darting down Shiro’s spine. The smile left his face quickly and he gave a soft nod, some sense misting into his head, fogging up some of his childish play. He turned back to Lance, taking one last bitter drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground. He stomped on it with his boot, digging it impossibly further into the concrete. 

“Sorry, kid. You heard the boss. Now beat it,” he snapped, harsher and colder than before. Shiro brought up a hand, and pointed a stern finger Lance’s way. “I just saved your Goddamn life officer. I suggest you return the favor and keep your mouth shut. If not for me, then for your tongue.” 

Lance, panicking, nodded and fled. He could be heard running down the stairs, leaving the warehouse once he’d cleared the place. He was sure Sendak and Takashi would have been able to hear his shouting “upstairs is clear! Everyone out!” From where they were. He hoped so. Fuck, he hoped so. 

He was silent on the way back and at the arrival at the precinct. Several people had been arrested and pounds of drugs had been recovered but Lance couldn’t think clearly enough to brag or comment. Instead he promised he’d do the paperwork later and signed out to go home. He needed to be at home. He needed to take a break and think about his options. 

 

The following day he took off work. He decided definitively that he was going to go out and do something to get his mind off of the events of the previous evening. He got into his crappy, rundown car and began on his way to town. He wanted to do some shopping and browse the market to clear his mind. 

He didn’t know where he was headed today because he didn’t know what he needed so he would just… wander. He folded his arms over his chest and sighed softly as he paced around town. 

Pushing open the door to a starbucks, Lance ordered himself a double chocolate frappuccino with cream and, upon collecting it, turned to find somewhere to sit. That was when he noticed the tuft of white hair in the back corner and paled. Shit. He- Where was he supposed to go? Had he been noticed yet? Maybe he could just settle down at a quiet table and keep as hidden as possible. He began sipping on his drink and turned to walk away from Takashi. What the fuck was he doing at a starbucks? 

 

Shiro scrolled through the news networks and all their newest articles on his phone, scanning quickly for any sign of his name. He was slouched in his usual spot in the cafe, elbows on the table, legs crossed, his grande chocolatey-chip frappe sitting just below his chin for the occasional sip. Of course he was dressed in his usual civilian get up -- dark jeans, some random hoodie, and his prescription glasses slipping down the bride of his nose. All he was missing was his hat to hide his bangs. The grey beanie was currently tucked inside of his back pocket, having been removed the moment he had sauntered into his second favorite place to be. He figured he’d be fine tucked away in his corner, as he was every day before that. No one bothered him unless it was to tell him they thought his hair was neat or something. 

Shiro glissed his eyes from headline to headline. From news channel to news channel. He checked local news websites, he checked Google’s popular page, he checked his news app, he checked CNN, he checked NBC. Hell, he even checked Good Morning America. He might have even checked it twice. 

This was his usual process whenever he got a considerably close call with a cop. Especially if it was one of those encounters where he let the officer get away. A rare occurrence, really. He still couldn’t find himself believing what he did the night before. It puzzled him whenever he’d stop to think about it. How… merciful he’d been. In front of Sendak, no doubt. 

Shiro decided to dismiss it as his simple problem with guns. Of course. That was it. That damn officer’s loud entrance had been quite enough on his nerves… imagine how he would have benefitted from an all out gun fight? Without his earplugs? An absolute trainwreck is what that would have been. Shiro didn't actually care about Lance’s life -- all he cared about was the absence of one of those tricky panic attacks, and a good night’s sleep. It made sense. It made sense that it must have been why Sendak obliged to Shiro’s compromise, too. 

Shiro didn't care about that dumb officer. 

Of course, Shiro could tell himself that over and over. He could tell himself that he was just as selfish and cruel as he made it out to be. He could tell himself that, with the opportunity, he could kill that officer with the same ease he could kill all his other victims with. Shiro could lie to himself. 

But he couldn’t deny that soft pang of feeling in his chest when his eyes had met Lance’s. 

Shiro shook his head and leaned back into his chair. Whatever. He would never see the little prick again. Even if Lance did squeal on him, he’d just sent Keith to go collect the officer’s tongue. Keith wouldn’t mind.

Done searching, he clicked his phone off and laid it down on the table. He grabbed his drink and took a long sip, dragging his gaze lazily along the cafe. His eyes caught upon a familiar face, and he choked on his frappe, almost spitting it out on the table. 

Lance. 

Groaning, Shiro ducked down a little, groping for his hat. 

Isn’t this just perfect? 

 

Lance was attempting to hide from Shiro by checking his phone and looking vaguely focused on the shitty article he was reading. He was hoping he would blend in and that Shiro wouldn’t even notice him but his life didn’t usually work out as well as that so he was beginning to doubt it. A lot. 

 

He had no idea what to do. He was honestly panicking. What was he going to do if he was recognised? What would he do if Shiro wanted to talk to him about the previous day? What if Shiro doubted that he had kept quiet? Anxiety and nervousness bubbled up in his stomach and he pushed away his drink, suddenly no longer finding it appealing. 

It was made even worse when his eyes accidentally flickered to Shiro and they made direct eye contact. Fuck. He was definitely fucked now. He didn’t know whether to stay or to leave. Fuck.

 

Shiro knew for certain Lance had seen him. The same nervous composure from the night before stood apparent in the young officer. His shoulders were stiff. His head was ducked down. The occasional glance he’d offer Shiro’s general direction was fleeting and skittish. Shiro watched the man wander about the little coffee shop in the most anxious of manners from the corner of his eye, swearing bitterly to himself in his head. 

Lance meeting Shiro there was bad. Bad for a whole slew of reasons. Lance could tell the cops. Lance could get the word out on the streets. Lance could get Shiro’s secret solitude spreaded throughout the entire Goddamn mafia! Even if Lance kept his mouth shut, Shiro’s frightening reputation had to be blunted at least a little with the casual clothing and those dumb wayfarer glasses sitting atop his nose. That couldn’t happen. 

Shiro couldn’t decide what to do in that moment. He didn't know whether to act oblivious and let the situation pass with ease, or to confront Lance to try and keep his dominant hold on the situation. There were pros and cons to both -- for sure. The alluring idea of just one peaceful day pulled him towards just getting up and leaving. The flaming sense of embarrassment that heated his cheeks at the thought of Lance seeing him as some civilian pulled him towards dragging Lance out towards the back of the building and giving him a beat down for good measure. Both options tossed back and forth in his head as he stole another glare Lance’s way. 

Little did he know Lance had also been looking.. 

Their eyes met. 

Option two, then. 

Shiro stood up, a theatrically sinister smile curling up his face. He grinned at Lance, scooped up his frappe, and nodded his head towards the back door. He made sure his eyes conveyed the threatening message before shoving his phone in his pocket, and making his confident way to the exit by the check-out. 

 

There was a bored “you can’t really go that way, sir,” from one of the baristas before Shiro slipped through what must have been the smoking break door. He stepped down three concrete stairs, and leaned on the wall beside the door he was sure Lance would come through, already digging for a cigarette. Shiro quickly tried to think of what he’d actually do to Lance, watching the door with a building anticipation…

The look alone had made Lance pale but he followed Shiro nonetheless.He flashed his badge to the lady behind the counter as he disappeared downstairs, slowly and hesitantly making his way down each concrete step. He had about as many reasons for turning around and leaving as there were steps but he didn’t listen and he didn’t turn away. He stopped dead as his eyes met Shiro’s, now at the bottom of the stairs.  
“Look,” he began slowly, cautiously.

“I followed all of the terms of our agreement. I didn’t say a thing about you, I swear,” he was so clearly scared. Terrified, even. He was having a conversation with a mafia drug lord who had threatened to cut his tongue off only the night before. “S-So I don’t see why we have to be here. I wanted a drink and I-I’ll go if-” his voice was shaky and riddled with fear. His body, tense and trembling. “Please. I appreciate what you did for me yesterday. Really, I do. Just- Please- I- Please-” He didn’t even know what he was pleading for. He was just hoping that Shiro would have enough mercy not to kill him or abuse him. He felt like his legs would crumble beneath him at any second.

Shiro listened to Lance’s pleads with a building satisfaction. He still had that officer wrapped around his finger, holding him there with a leash of neat terror. He smiled, tilting his head forward to peer a bit skeptical over the rim of his glasses as Lance finished up his rushed speal of begging. 

“Chill out a bit, kid,” Shiro said slickly once Lance’s weak pleases and reallys faded off into a nervous silence. “Just have to lay down a few facts on you real quick.” 

Lance parted his lips to say something, but Shiro dismissed him with a wave of his hand. He then pointed that hand to the Starbucks they stood beside. “First of all: this? This is my joint. This is the only fucking place I get away from mafia-police drama. If you mess that up I’ll find your house and kill you in your sleep, mm?” He said sharply. “Long painful death, too. Won’t be fun. Believe me.” 

“Second, congrats for not spilling on me. You get to keep your tongue for now.” Shiro paused to take a sip of his drink. Once he was done, he licked his lips, and gestured his nearly empty cup. 

“Thirdly: you’ve got a good taste in drinks. I respect that. I’m not gonna ban you from this Starbucks. Hell, it ain’t even my turf. But I will say this: don’t you ever confront me here. Don’t look at me. Don't wave at me. Don’t even breathe in my general direction. Got that? Is that too much information for your pig brain or no?” 

Lance was quiet for a few moments. “I wasn’t trying to confront you,” he muttered sharply under his breath, “I was just looking at you because I wanted to know if you had seen me.” He kicked at the floor a little and began to turn to go up the stairs. “I get it. I’m going to go.” He felt a lot less panicked knowing that Shiro had no intention to hurt or kill him and that allowed him to relax enough to talk to Shiro like that. He began up the stairs, this meeting having been humiliating enough as it was. 

Shiro thought for a fraction of a moment, watching Lance go, wondering if he should really say the fourth point he had queued in his mind. 

“Wait,” he said in a tired drawl, just as Lance grasped the door handle. “One more thing.” 

Shiro waited until Lance turned around and looked him in the eyes before he could continue. In that moment, Lance’s eyes held the most innocent of swirling confusion and curiosity. It was almost adorable. 

It was almost saddening. 

Sighing, Shiro crossed his arms over his chest. “Be more careful,” he said simply. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in a body bag right about now. I’m not gonna be in every warehouse you bust into. Think about that for next time, alright?”  
Lance watched him as he spoke and confusion poisoned his features and contorted his face.  
“Don’t act like you really care about me,” he said with a small laugh. “And believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. Wait for backup before I charge into a drug dealers hangout. I’d honestly rather not die on my second proper case, especially not after almost dying on my first.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. He was a bit taken aback by Lance’s tone. 

He couldn’t quite explain the sudden spurring of hot anger in his chest. The one that went red in his system and made his head spin and his skin crawl. It had to be how snarkish Lance’s tone had gotten… or maybe the way Lance took the previous precaution as… sympathy. Shiro could feel a shiver run across the flesh of his back at the mere thought of that word. Shiro wasn’t in any way sympathetic to this pig. He didn't care about him. 

Well… he did but that wasn’t the point- 

Shiro tried to dismiss all of that heated pondering with a quick shake of his head, and a hand pressed to his buzzing temple. “Now piss off,” he grumbled, his smile curled downwards into an annoyed sneer. “Let’s never see each other ever again. For your sake.” 

Lance nodded.

“Sounds good,” he mumbled as he began starting upstairs again, wrapping his arms around himself and gritting his teeth a little. God, he was so uncomfortable. He hated this. He’d acted so blatantly vulnerable in front of Shiro for no fucking reason. He ran one hand through his hair as he pushed back through starbucks, heading to the exit. He just wanted to go somewhere to take his attention off of Shiro. Asshole.

 

Shiro watched Lance go, a fit of complex feeling in his chest and a suddenly outraging amount of pain in his head. That stupid little officer gave Shiro a migraine -- of course he gave Shiro a migraine. Shiro swore bitterly under his breath, now standing all alone in that back alleyway. He shuffled his feet, broadened his shoulders, too proud to simply leave but too embarrassed to go back inside that damn coffee shop. He looked down at his plastic cup, empty aside from the whipped cream pooled at the bottom corner. He’d been holding it in his right hand -- his prosthetic hand. 

His mafia hand.

Without thinking, he crushed the whole grande cup in one firm squeeze, the crinkling rip of plastic mingling with the sounds of the city. He tossed it over his shoulder towards the darker part of the alleyway, and smoothed out his jacket. Shiro then left that alley and that Starbucks altogether, angry and bitter and confused. Why Lance had gotten so under his skin like that, Shiro didn't know. He just wanted to get back to his apartment. 

Shiro’s apartment, despite his well paying job, was a bit small. It was your standard two bedroom, one bath with a living area which split off into a kitchen-slash-dining room. He could easily afford much, much better. Somewhere outside the city and away from all of that mafia nonsense. He could even leave the country, if he pleased. He could, quite possibly and quite easily get out. Shiro had enough money now. 

But he couldn’t. It was too risky. In his opinion anyways. 

In reality, of course, it wasn’t very risky at all. To Shiro, however, he felt as though his prosthetic arm could beg to differ. 

After a short trek from Starbucks to his complex, Shiro walked into his apartment, kicked his shoes off on the matt by the door, and proceeded to his couch. He slumped over it and sighed, groping for bottle of Ibuprofen he left on the coffee table. He took two, and closed his eyes, hoping to drift off into a midday nap. Shiro had a job later that night -- a nasty, particularly bloody one, by the sounds of it. Haxus had been caught smuggling heavy stashes of good drugs off to another part of town, and Shiro and Sendak were told to go… take care of the problem. He figured if he was going to sleep at all, it would be before his violent outing with Sendak. 

His rest was interrupted by a pitter pattering of paws upon his wooden flooring, and a meow. Shiro leaned up, opened his eyes, and smiled. 

“Black,” Shiro cooed warmly to the black and white siberian cat who made her lazy way up to the couch. Shiro patted his chest, and Black leapt up on top of him, purring contently as Shiro rubbed her head. 

Sighing again, Shiro laid his head back against the cushion of his chair. If only he could just stay home that night. If only he could drop his act. His false confidence. If only he could just lie there with Black curled up on his chest. If only the upcoming job he dreaded was a stupid one like selling cars or teaching kids their ABCs. If only the thoughts of Lance in his head were the ones normally associated with dumb high school crushes rather than hot, prideful embarrassment and contempt towards the universe. If only. 

Oh well. Whatever. His if onlys were merely if onlys. His buried dreams were merely buried dreams. His act was still rolling. He had a job to do and it was bloody and dangerous. His feelings towards Lance were strictly professional, and even quite hateful. 

The show must go on. 

Shiro picked up Black and gently placed her on the ground. He stood up, stretched and yawned, and then made his way to the bathroom for a shower. It was a bit too early to get ready for the job, but Shiro didn't care too much.

He’d rather keep his mind busy. 

 

Lance had gotten home a few hours later than expected. His habit of impulse buying meant that he now had many bags hanging off his arms. One was full of skin and hair products alone. He grumbled a little, cursing himself for having been so selfish and blind to the potential financial consequences. He’d need to avoid shopping anywhere for a month after this.  
He ditched the bags in his room and shut the door to his apartment. His place wasn’t much nicer than Shiro’s but that wasn’t a choice of his. He’d not had much money until he’d gotten this job and, as he was still pretty damn new at it, he had only started earning large amounts. As if that wasn’t enough pressure to budget and be cautious with his money, some of his siblings had run into trouble and needed money and Lance, ever generous, was the one to send it.

He slumped down on the sofa, waking up Blue- a husky with one blue and one brown eye. The dog was incredibly happy to see him back and began jumping, barking, getting shushed but ignoring it. Her fluffy tail was going wild. Well, Lance thought to himself, At least there’s someone who’d always happy to see me. He pat the sofa and the dog leapt up, beginning to jump around and soon just dropping on top of Lance, all of her weight on the male who, suffocating, pet the hound weakly. He wasn’t in the mood to play today so he began rambling to Blue about every issue he’d had that day- meeting Shiro, being threatened and degraded, then spending so much money that he’d be eating breakfast at the precinct out of vending machines for at least a week.

Blue, of course, only listened. She watched Lance and licked his hand whenever it was close enough, her ears flat against her head as she realised she wasn’t going to be receiving many pets

“You don’t understand, Blue! He drives me insane! Takashi Shirogane, known mafia drug lord, etcetera, is blackmailing me! He’s brutal and he’s rude but he’s charming and surprisingly suave- and his voice! Oh, don’t get me fucking started!” Blue whimpered at the tone of Lance’s voice and he frowned, taking a few deep breaths. “Sorry, Blue. Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

He stood up from his shabby sofa and plodded on the creaky wooden floor toward the kitchen, only different from the living room because of the flooring. He picked up the dog bowl and filled it with the food, acting like a zombie. His brain just wasn’t cooperating with him lately- not since he’d met with Takashi. He couldn’t take his mind off of him! He just kept thinking about how he’d been so casual and mocked him so easily! Lance wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t anything Takashi made him out to be- he’d had to do so many exams and studied so much to become a member of the police force and he hated how he was laughed at for it. Dog biscuits began to spill out of the bowl and a few rolled off the counter onto the floor. Lance looked at the overflowing bowl and began throwing biscuits back in the box.

He just couldn’t focus anymore. Not even on a menial, daily task like feeding his dog. He set the bowl down and sat on the floor in the kitchen, closing his eyes.

He’d call in sick for work again tomorrow. He wasn’t in the right mindset to go back just yet- all the risks of doing police work poorly and having to endure the consequences? Ugh. No thanks. He’d rather sit in bed, watch Netflix, and eat ice cream all day with Blue curled up on his lap.

 

Shiro was in a considerably better mood the following day. 

An odd occurrence, though, really. After what he had to do to Haxus, and after all those hours of washing blood from his hands and fingernails, Shiro figured he would wake up dazed and unhappy. Even after the cocaine he had shared with Sendak once the job was done, Shiro loathed the idea of tomorrow. 

Despite everything though, Shiro slept well -- which was most likely from the drugs -- and when he woke up the next morning, he was fairly content. He fed Black with a smile on his face. He showered, and he didn't grimace at the blood splotches still stained about the tub. He ate breakfast without a churn in his stomach. He watched the news as he dressed himself, and even grinned at sight of the top story. 

Man found dead in his apartment. Appears to have ties to a mafia group called the Galrans. Traces of drugs and the murder weapons were found at the crime scene. No fingerprints, or any other signs of the killer. Police are working hard on the case. 

A perfect job, if he had to say so himself. There was not a trace of his being there -- Shiro made sure of that. None of his own guns or bullets. None of his own knives or shanks. None of his fingerprints, of course. On top of all of that, Shiro had been paid rather handsomely for it all, too. That, combined with the money from Zarkon for his drugs, all evened together nicely. He figured he might as well take a trip to the mall after his daily visit to the coffee shop. Buy himself some new coats or a pair of boots. Buy Black a new collar and maybe a toy or two. 

Shiro, still smirking to himself, pulled on a sleek leather jacket -- his favorite one to wear out. He scratched Black’s head, and told her he loved her and he’d see her later. Shiro then went to his door, slipped on his Harley Davidson boots from his matt, grabbed his backpack, and left his apartment, Starbucks bound. 

Nothing could ruin this strangely perfect mood, as it seemed. 

As it seemed. 

 

Lance stayed in bed until late morning, almost afternoon. Then he got up and dressed in loose clothes. He didn’t want to go out today, he’d learned his lesson from yesterday, and instead just settled onto the couch. Then, hearing familiar yapping, he remembered that he’d need to take Blue for a walk. He kicked on his shoes and stood.

He was still in his mood from the night before. He felt miserable. He wasn’t actually sure how he felt- he just knew that he wanted to get this walk over and done with. He left his apartment and started on the walk to town. He took Blue to town and back and usually got some fruit when he arrived as a treat for walking Blue. That was his intent- go there and back and then seal himself away in his room again immediately afterwards.

 

Just as Shiro thought, Haxus’s downfall was all over every news website he checked. He ran through each and every one, smiling giddily with every “no sign of the killer…” or “police are stumped…” he’d come across. It was almost like candy. 

Shiro’s mood held strong even after his daily frappuccino. He walked through the streets of his bustling city with a slight hop in his step and a visible confidence in his composure. Even when he passed the more notorious precincts he’d usually treat with caution, Shiro kept his head up, and his stride did not falter. He even considered taking off his hat and flipping off one of the cameras -- but he knew it’d be stupid, so he decided against it with a snicker. 

Shiro’s favorite deli was a quaint little place on 7th Avenue. It was far from his apartment complex, and a bit too close to those tourist attractions for his liking, but their Italian subs made it a bit easy to ignore the long journey on the smelly subway and the annoying tourists asking him where the very noticeable Empire State Building was located. He figured he deserved the treat, and after he’d do a bit of shopping for himself. 

So he rode the subway all the way to Midtown. He dealt with the crowds with his headphones and his good mood as a crutch. He ordered his sub, ate about half, and stuffed the rest of it in his bag for dinner. Then, with all that money burning a hole in his pocket, Shiro searched around for a place to shop. 

He went in and out of big name stores, buying anything he felt pleased with. Shiro popped into small mom and pop shops, too, liking the homemade clothing and jewelry. He bought himself a designer coat, some jeans, a pair of earrings or two, and a pair of nice new shoes. He bought Black a new pendant for her collar, a new set of dining bowls, and an array of electronic mouse toys that could run rampant around the apartment and entertain Black for hours while Shiro was working. All good purchases, he had to admit. Most were small enough to fit in the jacket’s bag too, so he didn't have to worry much about carrying the load. He had cruised all the way up and down Midtown, growing hungrier and hungrier as the hours passed and his energy lessened. 

His stomach was growling. The thought of that Italian sub in his pack suddenly had the power to make his mouth water. That provolone cheese. That deli sliced Salami. That warm, New York style Italian bread. All lathered in a coating of red wine vinegar and dashes of salt and pepper. Absolutely enticing. 

He was walking through a lesser populated area, his mind clouded with the thoughts of his sub, his eyes searching for the green railing of subway stairs. His mood had not soured at all. His mood was perfect. 

Until he heard a shout from behind him.

“Blue! Stop!” 

Lance’s walk had been going fine. He was trudging along while Blue was trotting and he rubbed his eyes, groaning. It was only when he got to town and Blue caught the scent of the dreaded Italian sub and almost tore his arm off, the leash slipping from his grasp as the dog bolted toward where the source of the smell came from. He’d only barely managed to cry out for the dog to stop before she leapt up and knocked him over. Immediately, her nose was pressed into the bag and Lance jogged over. She sat in front of him, tail wagging excitedly as she held the sub, still wrapped, in her mouth. Her tongue hung out of the side of her mouth and she looked extremely proud of herself.

Lance ordered her to drop it and picked it up from the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry. She never does that, I have no idea what happened,” he looked at the male on the floor and paled, breathing out “oh for fucks sake”as he began taking a few steps back. He still held the stolen sandwich in his hands, Blue jumping up at him and sniffing at it, still trying to eat it out of his hand and he was a second away from just giving it to her. He felt like he was going to cry. Why could he never just get a peaceful fucking day out?

 

Shiro pushed up from the ground fast, his heart suddenly beating twice its normal rate. 

Something had jumped on him. Of course, with all of the obvious facts surrounding the ‘attack’, it wouldn’t take much brains for one to figure out he’d been jumped on by a dog. The animal-like panting. The feeling of a slobbery tongue licking the side of his face. The snuffling of a dog in search of food in his bag. It was extremely obvious what had happened -- someone had lost control of their dog, and it had pounced on him for his sub. 

But Shiro’s head screamed Zarkon. 

When he pushed up from the ground and spun around, his eyes searched in a panicked dissare for a member of Zarkon’s gang to launch at him again. His prosthetic was buzzing, activated by the sudden rush of adrenaline pumped throughout his system. Shiro searched for his attacker, prepping his body for a fight, but instead found the obvious dog he had overlooked. He dragged his eyes upwards, and there stood the dog’s owner, the man’s frantic apologies lost behind the blood in Shiro’s ears.

Lance’s face looked down at him. 

“Jesus Christ!” Shiro shouted, sitting up straight. His voice was breathless, but the panic about his voice did nothing to dull that hot rage either. “You? Again?” 

Lance flinched at his voice, his eyes flickering from Shiro’s face to his arm to the sandwich in his hands. He was shaking. He was so clearly, clearly terrified. The way Shiro had acted and the frantic fear he’d seen the man exhibit followed so closely by anger- he was shaking. Shiro was erratic, unpredictable, it scared him. He took a step back and held out the sandwich at arms length for him to take.

“I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry! Blue never does that!” He said again, just needing to insist that he hadn’t meant anything and he hadn’t wanted to upset Shiro- he hadn’t even wanted to interact but he was never lucky enough to get what he wanted. 

His hands were shaking as he waited for Shiro to take the sub. Tears were in his eyes, the sudden fear from hearing Shiro’s loud tone pushing him over the edge to bring tears to his eyes. “Please- Please, I’m sorry,” he was trembling. He hated the fear that gripped him and he hated how he couldn’t do anything about it. He was a pathetic person and an even more pathetic police officer. “I’ll give you money to buy a new one if you want! Please! Please…” he grit his teeth to try to keep the tears from escaping.

Shiro watched the way Lance fell apart, and his seizing anxiety seemed to ease. The tightness of his chest relaxed, and then morphed into a cool, blue sorrow for the tears he saw welling in Lance’s eyes. Shiro’s stance slumped, a long, softer sigh escaping his lips as he tried to ground himself some more. He put a hand on his prosthetic, and cast his gaze downwards. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled slowly, rolling his eyes. “Your dog just fucking freaked me out, that’s all.” Shiro started to stand up, gathering his stuff together.

Now standing, he looked down to Lance’s dog and sneered, brushing himself off. “Figures you’re a fucking dog person,” he said bitterly. The dog looked up at him, its tongue lolling from the side of its mouth. He petted its head with lazy distaste, adjusting his pack on his shoulder. “Keep the damn sandwich. Your dumb dog got slobber all over it anyways. You owe me. Big time.” 

Lance cowered back, using his foot to push Blue behind him protectively. He opened the packet and set the sandwich down for Blue, knowing that she’d not forgive him if he threw it out (she could hold a surprisingly good grudge for a fucking dog). He bit his tongue hard.  
“I’m sorry. I-I swear, I am. What can I do to make it up to you? I- I’m sorry-” he couldn’t stop himself from apologising so much. It was an impulse at this point- apologise again and again until Shiro forgave him- it was how he had dealt with issues from his superiors all of his life and Shiro would be no different. He just knew it was the best way to deal with more domestic conflicts without having them turn aggressive.

Shiro shrugged. He had successfully calmed himself, but his previously indestructible mood had crumbled. His mindset had retreated backwards into that bitterness from the night before. “It’s fine, Lance,” he muttered tiredly. “Just… just don’t ever let your dog do that ever again. Surprising a jumpy mafia drug lord is the best way to get a knife in your neck.” 

Lance nodded. “Blue doesn’t normally do that… The leash just- just slipped out of my hand…” he mumbled, kneeling down beside the dog and petting her gently. She’d finished the sandwich by now and looked up at him with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, absolutely glowing with pride and happiness having eaten so much. “Yeah, smile now, but you’re not having lunch for that,” he muttered to her, smiling softly as he began coaxing his fingers through her hair, eyes full of love. At least now she’d know who he was always complaining about. He stood, taking his wallet from his pocket. “How much was the sandwich? That was my fault so I want to pay you back…”

 

Shiro rolled his eyes again, but then he threw them off to the side. He felt an odd heat rise to his face at Lance’s earnesty. It was almost like kindness. Kindness and pity inspired by terror, Shiro had to suppose, but still kindness. That bitter crackle of hatred in his chest almost warmed into a swelling of comfort for the shortest of moments. His hand, still keeping a nice hold on his prosthetic with the shopping bag about it’s wrist, clenched a little. That was a weird feeling, he had to admit. An old feeling. A just vaguely familiar one. 

A nice one.

But, quickly after that, was a pang in his gut. A swift no from his mind. No.

You don’t get to feel like that, Takashi. Not anymore. 

Not after who you let yourself become.

He rocked on his heels, anxious to leave Lance with all of that sudden self loathing running rampant in his system. 

“I don’t need your money,” he mumbled, still not letting his eyes meet Lance’s imploring ones. His voice sounded quieter than normal. Shiro tried to buff it up some more. “I have enough to go around. I’ll just order in or something.” 

There was a pause. 

“Are we done here?” Shiro added quickly. 

Lance glanced up at him, a little surprised, and shot his glance down to the ground again. He nodded coyly.

“If there’s nothing else you need to discuss, yeah,” he mumbled. He felt so stupid for having this happen, even if it was entirely Blue’s fault. Fuck. “Sorry, I’ll go.” He whistled for Blue who looked up at him before making a dash for freedom, almost pulling Lance’s arm off as he diverted her course and set her on route to go back home. If she kept up this behaviour, she might actually pull his arm off. Then he’d have a prosthetic like Shiro. Stumbling as his dog dragged him along, Lance shot one last glance behind him at Shiro, making sure he wasn’t being followed before focusing back on just going home.

 

Shiro watched Lance’s back. He watched Lance look over his shoulder. He locked eyes with the officer for the slightest fraction of a moment, and then he spun around on his heel, bitterly searching for a subway station. 

Shiro was bitter the whole way home. He was bitter in the subway cars. He was bitter on the walk to his apartment. He was bitter with every ding the elevator made as it climbed up the floors. He was bitter when he unlocked the door to his darkened apartment, the TV still on the news channel from the morning. 

The apartment was quiet aside from the soft jingle of Black’s pendant, and the pitter pattering of her feet. As Shiro closed the door, she slinked from the shadowy hall that led to his bedroom and up to his legs. She rubbed on him, already purring and chirping. 

With a slow sigh, Shiro leaned down and scooped her up. He held her against his chest, and rubbed at her cheeks and beneath her ears. “I’ve got something for you,” he said gently -- sounding tired. “Something nice for your collar. Some new bowls. Some toys to play with. You like that?” 

Black leaned into his petting hands, purring heavily, eyes closed and content. 

“At least I can love you without feeling guilty,” Shiro murmured. 

Shiro gave a quick kiss to her head, and set her back down -- only resulting in a protesting meow from the cat in question. He ignored her, however, and made his way to the bathroom. It was only five in the afternoon, but Shiro felt spent. He felt haggard and dreary. Both physically and emotionally he lacked his certain strength and energy he’d usually carry about. Just then, all he could really think about was a hot shower, and then curling up in his bed for the next ten years or so. 

He stripped, he showered his long, long shower, and then he dried himself off. He slipped on some boxers in his room, and then slumped down in his mattress. Shiro pulled the blankets up, and tried to fall asleep, not really hungry anymore. 

The sheets needed cleaning. The blanket needed cleaning. The pillowcases needed cleaning. They all had the softest scent of copper to them -- that gentle whiff of the eerily familiar metallic smell. 

The smell of blood. 

God, he was so okay that morning. Why then did Shiro begin to feel the guilt of Haxus? He didn't even care about Haxus. He didn't care about the man’s pleads or his begging or his cries or his terror. He… he didn't… 

This was all Lance’s fault. 

Shiro didn't know why or how but the pitiful little officer kept doing things to him. Every time they’d meet, Lance would knock down a barrier separating Shiro’s indifference and Shiro’s heavy guilt, and the two would combine in the ugliest of ways. He didn't care. But he did. Oh God, how he cared. 

Shiro lifted a hand up to his forehead and groaned to himself. That stupid look in Lance’s eyes. God, that stupid, stupid look. If it wasn’t for that innocent sparkle, Lance would have been dead, and Shiro wouldn’t have been feeling like such garbage. 

Please, he silently pleaded. Don’t let me see Lance ever, ever again. 

Shiro didn't know if anyone was listening. 

 

Lance wasn’t much better off. After scolding Blue for her behaviour and proceeding to ramble about Takashi for the next half an hour, he slumped down and into bed. He curled up, lying there with a blank expression, his phone dinging with texts every few seconds. It was Hunk, of course it was, asking him if he was okay or if he needed company. He turned his phone off to silence the ringing and left it on the floor. Blue soon hopped up and lay on top of him (slightly suffocating him) and Lance wrapped his arms around her, needing some kind of affection and Blue was the perfect cuddling size. For a dog, anyway. He slowly managed to fall asleep, relieved that his brain was allowing him to take a break from his thoughts.

 

He usually didn’t dream so he didn’t expect nightmares, but his sleep was plagued with the images of guns being held to his head by a familiar face with empty eye sockets. He was surrounded by Shiro’s, all of them holding guns to his head and threatening him with different things- coming back, letting Blue too close, talking about him, anything. Fear gripped him as he slept, shaking. He imagined Shiro stepping on his chest and holding out a gun, the weight on his chest being so real (because of Blue lying on him) that he felt genuine fear. He opened his mouth to plead, begging for the nightmare to end, only for the trigger to be pulled and finally, he woke up, tears spilling down his face.

What the fuck…

 

The next day, Shiro found himself in the presence of Zarkon. 

The events leading up to that meeting were blurred. Shiro remembered waking up from a restless slumber, feeding Black, and then getting a phone call from a protected number. Next thing he knew, he was standing before Zarkon and Sendak, his posture straight and his nerves spiked. The time in between almost seemed a sort of nonexistent. Simply lost to his terror fueled obligation to Zarkon and his empire.

Shiro stood in a rather large office of sorts. A study, maybe. Below his dulled shoes was an expensive, persian carpet. Around his stock-still form were lavish paintings encased in great oak frames upon the dark walls. To his left was a cackling fireplace, laughing at him from behind its grated bars, casting a bouncing shadow about the room. Before him was a grand desk, hand carved with artist perfection. 

Behind the desk was Zarkon. 

If Sendak was intimidating, Zarkon was downright terrifying. Large and gruff and marked with scars. Deep, merciless eyes that bored holes into Shiro’s skin with even a simple glance. His voice was grating and gravily. His whole presence reeked with power. 

Beside Zarkon stood Sendak, holding the same attentive posture as Shiro did. Only Sendak’s seems to glow in the presence of his master. All the pride, respect, and dignity shined clearly upon his face. 

“Kuro,” Zarkon said in his deep, terrifyingly alluring tone. “I have a new assignment for you. Just you.” 

Shiro swallowed hard. “An important one, I guess,” he said quietly. “Important enough to meet in person.” 

Zarkon smiled. It was chill inducing. “Yes. Indeed,” he hummed with a nod. “As Sendak tells me, there has been some trouble with specific police officers lately. Is that true?” 

Shiro flicked a quick and wild glance Sendak’s way, but the man paid no attention. “I guess so,” Shiro admitted. “There was only one problem. One time. And I handled it.”

“You let the officer live,” Sendak butted in. 

“I handled it,” Shiro snapped with sudden malice. He turned his attention back to Zarkon. “Didn’t see any reason to kill him. Blackmailed him instead. The pig is suffering, I assure you.”

“Didn’t see any reason to kill him? He saw you, K-”

Zarkon rose a hand, stopping Sendak short. He then spoke instead. “Well, Kuro. I’ve called you here today to tell you I see good reasons to kill Lance Mcclain. And I want you to do it. Redeem yourself.” 

Shiro didn’t answer. His mouth went dry. His words escaped him. 

Leaning back in his chair, Zarkon snapped his fingers. Sendak responded with scooping up a duffle bag that had been sitting listlessly by his feet. He placed it on the table. 

“In this bag is everything you need for tonight. Disguise. A gun. Earplugs. Bleach and cleaning supplies. Gloves. Lance’s address. Once you’ve killed him, make his place spotless, and dump his body in the river. I want nobody to know what happened to him. Call me, and tell me when you’re finished.” 

Zarkon paused, his eyes heavy on Shiro’s stoic features.

“Can you handle that, Takashi?”

Shiro felt an intense shudder rip through his skin at the sound of his name. Next came a pang in his stomach. A quick flash from his past. A soft, ghosting pain from an arm that wasn’t there. 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Lance had gone to work that day. He’d documented his entire meeting with Shiro on a notepad hidden in his desk, needing to get it out of his system. Today he wrote the new experience, adding every detail he could remember. He poured his entire incoherent brain into writing it, adding details like Takashi’s clothing, his demeanour, everything. He’d found himself drawing him everywhere, his drawings ranging from small sketches of his grin with his hair sharp and sticking up in awkward directions to drawings similar to police sketches- where he left no detail forgotten.

He included the glint in his eyes, the malicious grin with the abnormally sharp canines, the several ear-piercings and the jagged scar. He made sure the tuft of white hair only went slightly past his purple eyes and that his black hair ended just above his ear, where his undercut took over. He drew him incessantly when doing his paperwork, when on his break, he just couldn’t stop thinking about him.  
“Who is that?” Hunk would ask as he leant over his shoulder and picked up a sheet. “Your new boyfriend? You’ve drawn him an awful lot,” he mocked and teased often, handing the paper back after holding a picture over his face and dramatically asking Lance to marry him or something similar. Lance snatched the sheet back before Pidge could wander over and join in the ridicule.

From the fifth remark onward, he began stuffing each drawing into his bag or his drawer and out of Hunk’s reach. He submitted minimal work and left without a word, walking alongside Allura.  
“What’s wrong, Lance? You’ve barely been yourself today. I suspect something happened at the warehouse but- but I can’t help unless you tell me what happened,” she said for the umpteenth time that day, continuing through to the elevator. Lance laughed softly.  
“Believe me, ‘Lura,” he said as he leant against the wall. “I’d tell you it all if I could. I’d stand in front of everyone and shout about what had happened if I could. However, I do quite like having my tongue and if I want it to stay that way, I’ll need to not talk about it.” The elevator doors opened and he got out, walking ahead of her as she sputtered and tried to get his attention again.

Lance settled into his blue car and flicked the engine on, starting back home. He got McDonalds on his way back and parked outside his apartment complex, bringing his half-eaten dinner with him. He got to his apartment and sat down on his couch, giving Blue a fry every so often. Then he finished eating and lay back, his bag falling out and papers spilling- not that Lance noticed the papers that empties themselves onto the floor. Images of Shiro were now lying on his floor, out in plain sight, soft notes added about his voice or his eyes or any noticeable detail. It almost seemed like he was obsessed- but Lance just wanted to get the thoughts out so they’d stop plaguing his mind.

He lay back on his couch and rubbed his eyes.

Lately he’d been falling asleep here more than on his actual fucking bed. It was probably an instinct to stay out of his bedroom where he slept by a window without a lock- he didn’t want to be assassinated in his sleep. Dozing off to that thought (reassuring, right?) Lance trusted his life with Blue and pure optimism that Shiro would genuinely not kill him unless he ran his mouth or got anyone else arrested.

A foolish choice, really, to trust someone like that with anything.

 

Lance’s apartment was near Midtown. A lengthy walk from the popular tourist trap, but near enough. Shiro could have figured that, though. It was where they had met the day before. 

Shiro didn’t need to take the subway. Zarkon had provided Shiro with a car. It was a shabby old Audi, the black paint dulled and the motor a bit grumbly. The leather interior of the seating was worn out and reduced to ugly scratches and patches of stains. It had a musty smell to it — the smell of an older person. The heavy scent almost carried the feeling of death, the stuffy air tasting as though it was a corpse itself. The life of that car had died a long time ago. 

Shiro made sure he cracked the windows a bit before heading on his way. 

He was dressed in black. Black pants, black boots, black hoodie, black gloves, and a black bandana pulled over the bottom half of his face. Around his neck had been his professional grade ear plugs. The best the world could offer. They would press into his ears, and cling there, muffling roughly 75-80% of the noise. They, unmatching his outfit, were a deep purple, chord and all. 

Around Shiro’s hip was a gun. It was a simple Beretta M9, equipped with a stout little silencer. Also supplied by Zarkon. 

In the passenger seat was his duffle bag, a canister of bleach, rubber cleaning gloves, towels, soap, and a large, plastic trash bag. 

A perfect little assasination kit.

Shiro had something else, though. He had managed to swing by that lovely deli, and get his Italian sub from before. It was split in half -- one wrapped up and sitting neatly upon his dashboard for later, and one wrapped up in the duffel bag for Blue. It was to keep the dumb thing quiet and content for one thing. Another reason, however, was his nagging conscious. Shiro didn't quite know what he would do with Lance’s dog after Lance was dead. He knew allowing the canine to chomp on its favorite meal would lessen some of the guilt for whatever it was. Whatever Shiro had to do to it.

He pulled up two blocks from Lance’s apartment building. Shiro walked the rest of the way, sticking to shadows and alleyways, and keeping keen watch out for security cameras. He found the right complex, and scoured the building for a fire escape. 

Rightmost side. Just as Zarkon said. 

Shiro began to scale it, counting the floors as he climbed each flight. The stairways were steep and harrowing, but Shiro kept his breath steady the whole way up. Finally, on the sixth flight, Shiro approaches the right floor window.

The window didn’t lead directly into Lance’s apartment, rather out in the hall that Lance’s room split off from. The window was easy to get into — an awkward squeeze, of course, but easy to pick. He tiptoed quietly through the heavy carpeted hallway, scanning the doors. Keith was dealing with the cameras from a van a few more blocks down, so Shiro didn’t worry about them. 

6E... 6E… His mind told him Lance’s apartment number in a repeating, walking-dead like mantra. It was the only thing his mind was telling him. All else had been cleared for business. 

6E… 6E...

All else had to be cleared, in order to perform his task. 

6E.

There it is. 

Shiro began working at the lock with ease.

Lance had a simple, police issued security system. Keith’s mission was to take care of it the same way he took care of the security cameras -- and to do it without any sort of detection. If Keith had been able to deactivate the alarms in time, Shiro could get in and out without a single peep of a whirling siren. Whether he did or not, Shiro didn't really know in the moment. He didn't quite care enough to check in through the comms anyways. His earplugs were already in, and talking aloud could jeopardize his delicate position. Shiro would just have to trust Keith got his damn job done.

There was a soft click, and the knob turned with ease. 

Reluctantly, Shiro eased the door forward. There was no sign of alarm -- the dark peacefulness of Lance’s apartment remained tranquil. He slipped through the doorway with tentative ease, and pulled it shut behind him. He then felt along the wall for a lightswitch, and gently flipped the first one his finger met. 

Instantly, the area to his right lit up with the flick of his finger. It was the kitchen portion of Lance’s tiny apartment. Little counter space, a small little breakfast bar, an old fridge tucked up in the corner. The tiny space branched off from the living room, which laid out just in front of him -- still dim. It was nothing grand -- a coffee table, a smaller television set, a shaggy carpet. Shiro ran his eyes about the apartment before him, his eyes settling on the couch. 

Shit. 

Lance was on the couch. 

He was sleeping quite soundly, to Shiro’s great praise, sprawled about on his little blue sofa, snoring gently into the cushions. 

Beside Lance was Blue, laying on the floor. She had just begun to lift her head from her paws, cocking her head at him. Shiro couldn’t quite hear if she made any sorts of noises from the deadening of his headphones, but he could tell from her body language she hadn’t meant any harm. He dug into his duffel bag, and held out her treat as he made his slow way over to the couch. Blue, her loyalty to Lance a bit stunted, took the bribe, and happily licked at the wrapping, getting inside to the vinegar and ham. 

With Blue taken care of, Shiro moved to Lance. He crept alongside the sofa until he stood just over the officer’s dozing form. The man’s head was turned to the the side, his features listless and relaxed, his mouth parted ever so slightly against the rougher fabric of the couch. Lance’s eyes were closed delicately, and they turned and rolled beneath his lids as though he was dreaming. His breaths were soft and even. His arms had been wrapped around his chest. His right leg was on the sofa, while his left leg had fallen over the side. He was in his uniform. Lance’s badge shinned dully in the lame light. 

So that was how he was going to look when he died. 

Shiro shouldn’t have thought that. It caused a sharp pain in his stomach, which triggered a wave of swift dread to overcome his previously stoic system. He grit his teeth, and turned his head quickly to the side, desperately searching for something he could mentally grasp onto. Something to ground him. 

His eyes caught onto an array of drawings spread across the coffee table. 

Good drawings. Sketches and doodles, but professional and talented drawings nonetheless. Pencil graphite. Highlighters. Pens of all colors. All of them of the same thing. All of them of the same person. 

All of them were Shiro. 

Shiro had to turn back, the drawings not really helping his mindset much at all. How were they supposed to make him feel? Weirded out? Flattered? Scared? Angry? Confusion bloomed thickly in his mind and chest, swaying his mission even more. 

He glissed his gaze from the dozing, dreaming Lance, back down to the dog. She was nearly done with her portion of her sub. Soon she’d be looking for more. 

Feeling something like panic now, Shiro pulled the gun from his hip, and turned to Lance once more. He held it out in front of him, letting the nose of the silencer hover just above Lance’s forehead. He didn't know how much he’d been trembling until he had seen how jittery the pistol had been as he cocked it and switched it from safety mode. Shiro laid his finger on the trigger, and sucked in a deep breath, planning on squeezing it tight with his exhale. 

Hesitation plagued his whole body. His joints were stiff. His mind was whirling. His finger was stuck. His lungs compressed inside of him, still holding in his previous gulp of air. 

The dog was ripping at the wrapping for more in his left peripheral. The drawings of him shone clearly in his right one. Lance was dreaming -- scrunching his nose and furrowing his brow in his sleep. Shiro’s finger was on the trigger. He didn't breathe.

Things began spinning. Things began tilting. Shiro’s breath was heavy in his chest. His finger was heavy on the trigger. He couldn't quite tell which was heavier. 

Drawings. Sub. Dog. Lance. Dreams. Trigger. Lance. Drawings. Dog. 

Breathe, Shiro. Do it. Breathe. 

Gun shots. Haxus. Blood. Drugs. Zarkon. Blood. So much blood. Zarkon. Pain. 

Breathe. 

Lance. Dreams. Lance. Nightmares. 

Breathe!

Shiro exhaled, but instead of pressing his finger down, Shiro relaxed his whole arm. His whole body even. His shoulders slumped. His knees wobbled. His head hung down on his neck. Only then did he realize how angrily his heart had been beating, and how loud the raging blood was behind the earplugs. 

He holstered his gun, and he pulled his earplugs from his ears. He pulled the bandana down from his face and quietly gulped for air. Shiro struggled to keep his breathing even and quiet as he gasped for lost breath. He took a few steps backwards, a hand to his pounding head. A few long moments passed where Shiro simply tried to recover from the sudden rush of panic and memory. Lance’s snores were a calming white noise to latch onto, so he listened to those gentle ins and outs, unconsciously matching with him. 

When he was grounded and steady, Shiro stepped forwards, and knelt down beside Lance. He removed his gun from his holster and stuffed it in his duffel bag, zipping it up tight. He then turned back to Lance, brought his hand up and delicately placed it upon Lance’s shoulder. 

Shiro inhaled. 

And on his easy exhale, he shook Lance a bit. 

“Wake up, Lance,” he hissed quietly. “You’re in danger.”


	4. Shance - Mafia!Shiro x Cop!Lance pt. 2

Stirring, Lance whined at the need to wake up before he processed the voice and jolted, flinging himself onto the floor and moving to the other side of the room. “Y-You- You’re- M-My apartment-” he was shaking, suddenly pale, looking terrified. Oh god. Oh god, Shiro was going to kill him. His eyes flickered across his outfit to the duffel bag and he paled further, trembling, tears welling up in his eyes. Blue had finished licking the wrapper clean and stood by Shiro, her tail wagging, for more to eat. She yapped happily, jumping up on her back legs and waving her paws at him. Lance whistled for her but she ignored him, sniffing Shiro to see if he had more food on him. It wasn’t unreasonable of him to react this way- not when a mafia drug lord who’d threatened him multiple times had broken into his apartment and had clearly been planning on killing him.

“I-I-” he glanced around him, looking for something to use as a weapon but all that was in reach were the fucking drawings. He bit his lip as he turned his fearful gaze back to Shiro. “Please don’t kill me- I- I swear I’ve done everything you told me to!” He could barely breathe, spiraling. He couldn’t die here. He didn’t want to die like this. He didn’t want to die at all. He still had a job and he had his friends and he had to apologise to Allura for being rude and-

He curled up, trying to steady his breathing, trying to focus, tugging on his own hair as if the slight pain would help him ground himself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He needed to focus. He needed to stop Shiro from killing him but he couldn’t get his mouth to work with his brain. All he could think was that he was going to die here, by Shiro’s hand. Fuck. Fuck, he was so scared. So fucking terrified. He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to die.

Shiro viewed Lance’s utter terror and disarray with a bad taste in his mouth. But it wasn’t annoyance… no. It was a morph between guilt and pity, both mending together to create an ugly burn in his chest. It didn’t feel very good against the ghost of his panic from earlier. 

So he rose his hands, arms bent at a 90 degrees angle by his head. A notorious look of surrender, but also a signal of peace. He relaxed his features, and tried hard to soothe his tone — almost hoping for the same voice he’d use to speak to Black. 

“Lance, I’m not here to hurt you,” he murmured softly. 

A lie? Not really. Shiro figured it wasn’t in that moment. He didn’t really ever think he intended on killing Lance in the first place. It was why he had such a defined plan of action already formed about in his mind. Shiro had been unconsciously planning how to get around assassinating Lance all night. 

“Look,” he continued. “You’re in a lot of danger right now. Mafia wants you dead. I need you to pack yourself a bag. You’re going to have to disappear for awhile.” 

Lance’s eyes fixed on Shiro and he scanned his face to see if he was lying or not. He rubbed his eyes to get rid of his tears, shooting his gaze to the floor. 

“Were you going to kill me?” He asked softly, his voice only barely above a whisper as he picked up a bag, absently doing what Shiro told him to. After this he was going to move away and get as many locks and security measures implemented as possible.

He began packing, shaking noticeably as he stuffed in any objects he deemed important. “Where am I even going to go? I have to disappear… I- I don’t know what I should do,” he murmured weakly, clearly scared and plagued with anxiousness.

“You’re going to have to leave the city. Drop everything and go. You can stay at my place while we figure out how to get you somewhere without being noticed. The plan is to make Zarkon think you’re dead at the bottom of the river.” 

Shiro spoke with an odd sort of ease. He spoke as though he knew through and through everything he’d been talking about. He didn’t know. In fact, Shiro’s anxiously intrusive thoughts told him this was going to get both of them killed or worse. But he spoke. Calmly and confidently. 

“I need to call Zarkon. My mission was to kill you and make it seem like you’ve skipped town. I’m going to tell him everything went fine. You keep packing.”

Upon seeing Lance’s nod, Shiro pulled out the burner phone Zarkon had given him for the job. He flipped it open, clicked on the only contact and the phone began ringing. He held it up to his head, and waited for the click of an answer. 

The awaited click, and a gruff, “Is it done?” in Zarkon’s chilling tone greeted him. 

Watching Lance scramble for his things, Shiro nodded. “Yeah. I’m about to start cleaning up. I’m packing up a bag of his clothes to ditch too. Figured missing clothes would lead to the police suspecting what we want them to.”

“Good,” Zarkon’s voice gurgled from the speaker. “Clean it up. Take his cash. Ditch the body. Did you take care of his mutt?” 

Shiro casted a glance towards Blue. “Yes. It’s taken care of.” He paused a moment, juggling with his luck. “Keith needs to keep the cameras off for another hour or so.”

“Done. Text me when the body is gone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shiro hung the phone up and sighed. He turned back to Lance. “How’s Blue with cats? Would she hurt a cat if she saw one?” 

Lance watched, mouth hanging open as he looked between him and the phone. “She’s harmless. She likes making friends,” he said as he began to his bedroom to continue packing, no idea what to do.  
Speaking of Blue, she was currently sniffing at and nudging Shiro’s leg, whining loudly at him like she expected more food and like he had stuff to give to him.

Lance continued with stuff and ran his hands through his hair, panicking. Nonetheless, he had his bags packed in a few more minutes and stood in front of Shiro. “I- I’m ready,” he said in a soft murmur, biting his tongue a little.

Goddamn it, he hate that he had to do this. What was he supposed to do? Keep Shiro company like a damn housewife while they figured out a way to keep him off the grid? Leave him with no way of talking to friends or family so he was assumed dead? It sounded miserable.

 

Shiro took a look at Lance’s outfit, wondering if the deep blue of his uniform would stick to the shadows as well as his own. He’d have to take his badges off, of course. It would have been better if he had been wearing black. It would have been about five times as better if he had something to cover his face. 

Sighing, Shiro reached back and untied his bandana. He held it out to Lance. “Here. Take this and put it on your face. You need it more than me,” he said. “Do you have a dark hoodie you can wear? Once you’ve got it on hook Blue up to her leash. We should be gone before Keith checks back up on the cameras.” 

Lance handed Shiro Blue’s leash and picked up a hoodie, slipping it on before pulling the mask on. He bit his tongue anxiously as he began to the door. “Let’s go… I- I want to get out of here. Now. Please.” He didn’t feel safe and he definitely didn’t want to waste any more time in his apartment, worrying about death.

Shiro looked at him wordlessly for a moment, his head cocked a bit. Lance had been so… trusting. He had been preparing himself for protests and ignorance. For pleads and for bargains. For denial and for immaturity. Shiro had been preparing for a lot more… a lot more fear. But no. Despite his stuttering, and that dazed look glazed over his eyes, Lance seemed otherwise collected. Level headed. Somewhat brave. 

Shiro couldn’t help but admire that. 

He turned around, scooping up his duffel bag and pulling it over his shoulder. It remained closed. Shiro made sure of it. Lance wouldn’t see its contents. He then leaned over and clipped Blue’s leash onto her collar. It fit her name -- baby blue in color. Shiro hoped it wouldn’t attract too much attention. 

“Make sure she stays quiet,” Shiro said, handing Lance the leash. 

He dragged his eyes from Lance and looked about the apartment, scouring for anything that he could have missed. Anything that could have hinted to a crime, or even worse, the lack of a crime. No fingerprints. A packed bag. Missing Lance. A missing dog. Everything earned a swift check in the mental list he wrote about in his mind. 

Finally, Shiro’s gaze found the coffee table again. The drawings were still spread about its surface, apparent and still the slightest bit unnerving. With a slow, almost embarrassed sigh, Shiro lifted a hand and pointed at them. His cheeks flushed red. 

“Do something with them. If you leave them here, its clues for the cops, and for Zarkon. I… I don’t care what you do, but a bunch of drawings of me can’t stay on your coffee table.” 

Lance turned bright red. He bit his lip and little and began gathering them up. “It just- I- I only drew these because- because-” what? Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you? Fuck off. He’d sooner die than say anything near as stupid as that. “Shut up. That’s why,” he dignantly settled on as he stuffed the drawings into his bag, checking for any more around his apartment. He sighed, running his hands through his hair a little. He seemed satisfied and set his bag down. “Is that all? Oh- Oh fuck- I… I need to go to the precinct. I left something there. It was a- a few pieces of paper on you and our meetings- I… I left them in my desk in case I died but I… I don’t know- We should go get those and not have them found. I swear, I’ll just need to stop in for about five minutes, if that, and then we can go.” 

Shiro put a hand on his forehead and groaned. “You’re killing me, Lance,” he grumbled. “Jesus. Fine. I’ll drive you to the precinct. Go in, grab your stuff, and get out. Don’t talk to anyone. Better yet, don’t let anyone see you.”

He spun around, already feeling the regret surrounding the entire situation. Shiro made his way to the door, and pulled it open. He gestured for Lance to leave. 

“We’re leaving down the fire escape,”he added bluntly as he stood by the door. “The lobby is too risky.”

Lance nodded along and left the building, disappearing through the fire escape. He waited for Shiro to confirm which car he was getting in and slipped into the passenger side. His nerves made his fingertips numb and his hands tremble, his stomach full of butterflies. He had no idea what he was doing.

He would have looked like an idiot to anyone who knew the situation he was in. Dumb Lance, naively trusting someone he clearly shouldn’t trust. He turned his gaze to the window, biting his lip hard to soothe his nerves and focus on something other than his spiraling thoughts.

Could they just get this over with so that he could find out if he was going to die or not?

Upon arrival he showed his badge to the receptionist and started up the stairs immediately, dashing to the precinct to do as told as quickly as possible. He didn’t want Shiro to think he was snitching. He approached his desk and opened the drawer, taking out the papers and stuffing them into his pocket before starting back out. Then he escaped to the car again, He slipped inside.

“I didn’t tell anyone anything, I didn’t even say hi to anyone,” he said as he sank into his seat. “I swear, that was all. Nothing else.” He sank into his seat and pulled his hood up.

It was finally sinking in how stupid he was being- blindly trusting Takashi to take him somewhere safe when he had been in a precinct full of cops who could have arrested him on the spot. He could have snitched with ease. He didn’t know why he chose not to. 

He was such a fucking idiot for not realising sooner.

Shiro nodded, but he stayed silent. His hands were gripping tight to the wheel, his nerves spiked and his whole system wound tight with paranoia. Thoughts of Zarkon seemed to be the only ones he could properly brew up. 

What if he finds out? What if Zarkon finds out what you did? What would happen? Takashi, what is going to happen to you?

Easy. A repeat of what happened four years ago. Shiro felt as though he could have vomited at the thought. His knuckles turned white with their vise-like grip upon the steering wheel. 

His driving became sloppier with each brick in the building of anxiety he had been stacking up in his mind. His stops jerked the whole car. His turns were wild and often without their legally required signals. His speeds easily exceeded the limit when he wasn’t stuck in traffic. Shiro thought of turning on the radio to ease the tension of both his chest and the atmosphere, but he couldn’t quite pull his hands from the wheel to press any of the buttons. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of worry and the quiet awkwardness of the car, Shiro pulled up to his building. He parked the car, ripped his steel grip from the steering wheel, and got out. Shiro opened the back seat door, and grabbed onto Blue’s leash. He guided her over to her master, who had just closed his own door, and handed her over. 

“I need to ditch the car. I’ll take care of that tomorrow morning, though. I don’t know how I feel about leaving you all alone in my apartment.” He grumbled all of this in a blunt tone as he made his way towards the building, Lance stumbling along behind him. “Just follow me for now. Keep your head low. I don’t think the lobby is too risky as long as your face is hidden.” 

Lance nodded and compiled, his head hanging low and his hood still up as he walked behind Shiro, letting him lead the way. He was tense, feeling stupid for trusting Shiro. He’d gone too far now, though, and it was a high risk to say otherwise or speak up against him. He ran his hands through his hair anxiously, shaking again, feeling like he was on the edge of tears yet again. God, could he just get somewhere quiet and secluded so that he could break down. He needed a pause, a few moments or a few hours to recover. He trudged behind him and soon got to the apartment door, tears already in his eyes and he was trying damn hard to hold them back. Not here. Not in front of Shiro. With all the recent stress, he just needed a break…

Shiro opened the door, and held it for Lance. Once Lance and Blue were inside, he casted a few nervous glances up and down the hall, and slipped in after them. He flipped on the lights, shut the door, and then locked it tight. 

When he turned, Lance had been wandering further into his apartment, scouring the place. His dog, still tightly secured on her leash, sniffed the air, and wagged her tail. 

A dog and a police officer. Standing in my apartment. Shiro put a hand up to his head and gave a short, manic little chuckle. A dog and a police officer. Jesus Christ, my two least favorite things. Standing in my living room.

Shiro felt damn near hysterical. 

Shaking his head, Shiro tried to chase away any more delusional giggles he felt rising in his system. Instead, he clapped his hands together, hoping to grab Lance’s attention. It worked, and the odd pair that stood before him spun around. 

“Okay,” Shiro said in a heavy, breathy tone. “Okay. You’re in my apartment. That’s a thing that’s, uh, that’s happening, I guess. Time to settle some ground rules, okay?” 

He rose a hand and gestured the space around him. “Living room and kitchen are free range I guess. You’ll probably have to stay here a week or so while I gather up everything I need to get you out of the state unnoticed, so me casa su casa or however you say it.” Shiro had regained his usual, carefree, boisterous tone from their previous interactions, ditching the low voice and concerned vocals from before. He was Kuro again. “Guest room is the door on the left side of the hall. Bathroom is just a door down from that. Door on the right side of the hall is my room.” 

Shiro paused to point a finger at him. “You do not go in my room. Under no circumstances. None.” 

He dropped his hand, and the deadly tone, and continued. “I’ve got food handled. Dog food too. Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it. Don’t take advantage of that. I shower in the mornings and before bed. You schedule around that. Your dog does not chew up anything. She also does not mess with my cat. Your dog does not eat my cat’s food, or play with her toys. That shit is expensive.” 

Another brief moment of silence while Shiro thought over his new checklist of rules.

“You stay in here. Stay away from windows. No going outside. If you need to out and get something, I’ll handle it. If you need laundry done, I’ll handle it. If your dog needs walking…” Shiro gave a deep sigh, and grit his teeth. “I’ll handle it. Don’t take advantage of me. No talking to anyone outside of me. It puts you, me, and them in danger. You might as well stuff your phone in the garbage disposal… but don’t do that really it might clog the sink. If you need me to destroy your phone, I’ll destroy it. ”

Shiro thought of something to say again, liking the silent compliance from Lance’s side. “I… Oh, wait, this next thing something that might be important.” He turned and pointed towards the doorway. “You hear a knock on that door, you go to the guest room. Usually I’ll give you a warning before someone comes over, but my friend Keith -- you remember him, right? He stops by unannounced every now and then for uh…” Shiro trailed off, trying to think of a good euphemism for sex. “Meetings. If he shows up just go to your room and I’ll tell him to go.” 

Shiro ended his speech with a sigh. “You got all of that, Lance?”

Lance had been hanging onto every word, latching onto his voice and processing as much information as something to occupy his thoughts while he attempted not to cry. Having something, anything, as a distraction would help. He glanced up at Shiro and met his eyes, nodding immediately. He kept silent, tapping his leg a little and having Blue trot over, sitting beside him. “I’ll go to the guest bedroom now, Takashi,” he mumbled as he picked up his bag again.

Left side of the hall, was it?

He approached the described door and pushed it open, biting his tongue hard as he pulled it open. He whistled for Blue to enter and she jumped onto the bed, making herself comfy. Lance shut the door behind him as he set the bag down, pushing himself onto the bed. The guest bedroom was small- smaller than his crappy bedroom at home. There was no window and the ceiling was low, half of the room taken up by the single bed and a bedside table being stuffed into the corner. He curled up as he sat by the head of the bed. 

He felt warmth burn his eyes and bit his lip harder, tasting blood. No. Not now. Not yet. Later, when Shiro wasn’t home or when he was working. Anything. But his tears didn’t listen, welling up in his eyes and beginning to spill from his eyes as he hugged himself. Blue whined as she noticed him crying, her ears flat against her head, but she made no effort to comfort him. 

Lance hated this. He hated being here. He hated being obligated to act a certain way and he hated being bossed around and he hated fearing for his life in case Shiro just lost interest him or saw no reason to care anymore. He hated it. He hated himself for letting this happen. He should have reported everything and gone into witness protection. He should have told everyone everything and gotten Shiro arrested regardless of him losing his tongue for it. He didn’t care. 

He shouldn’t have cared before. He’d not have ended up like this if he hadn’t. He covered his mouth with one hand to stifle his sobs as the weight of the stress and the repressed emotions from the last few days came crashing down on him.

He couldn’t let Shiro hear him.

He couldn’t let Shiro know he’d won.

He couldn’t believe this was happening.

He should have just died when Shiro broke in.

He just stayed curled up, sobbing, shaking, trying desperately to be quiet enough not to bother the intimidating man only a room across. He put one hand on his stomach. When had he last eaten something proper? His stomach hurt with hunger. His headache. Had he been drinking enough lately? His vision was blurry, even despite the tears. He hadn’t been sleeping enough despite feeling like he slept too much.

He was a mess. A disgusting, pitiful mess that was only alive because some sick mafia fuckhead had probably decided it would be entertaining to watch him squirm in all kinds of hellish situations. 

He was probably just alive to be mocked and abused.

He couldn’t fight off the negative thoughts plaguing him. He slowly moved to the floor and Blue curled up beside where he had been. Lance slid off his clothes and pulled on a baby blue hoodie and black sweatpants before going back into bed. He might just sleep again. 

He wrapped his arms around Blue, seeking comfort she couldn’t give.

Maybe he’d be lucky enough to fall asleep before he could hate himself any more.

 

Shiro, on the other hand, did not end up falling asleep. 

After watching Lance saunter off down the hall, the sting of his mumbled ‘Takashi’ still sharp in his gut, Shiro sat on the sofa, and flicked on the television. 

He watched it without really watching it. The flashing of the scenes of whatever sci-fi space movie he had flicked on seemed distant. The screams of starships and space battles sounded distorted -- as though it had been happening from the other end of a long, winding tunnel, and all Shiro heard were the ghosts and echoes. His attention had simply been focused elsewhere. 

Shiro’s eyes were on the clock on the wall just to the left of him, by one of the only two windows of the whole apartment. He watched the hand travel round the face from number to number -- from hour to hour. He sat there for four hours and seventeen minutes, and proceeded to text Zarkon that he had ditched the body, and that he’d drop the car off at the junkyard the next day. 

All he received was a tiny “Read at 4:35 AM” at the bottom of his screen. 

A twist of anxiety plagued him, and Shiro held the burner phone in his prosthetic hand. With one swift grasp, he crushed it, the snapping of plastic and circuit boards somehow louder than his movies. Bits of it sprinkled about the carpet, but Shiro didn't care. He stood, slow and daze like, and made his way to his room, still clutching onto whatever remained of that poor little flip phone. The TV was still on, and raging about behind him. 

Shior went into his room and closed the door. He sat on the foot of his bed beside Black, casting his gaze around his room. Pictures. Dog tags. Clothes. Bed. Cat. Cat toys. The bits of phone he’d been dropping everywhere. 

Shiro sat there until daybreak, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. 

 

Lance stayed in bed. He didn’t speak, or move, he just stayed lying there for around an hour after he woke up. It must have been five in the morning at the earliest, meaning he didn’t move unil around six. He slipped out of bed and slowly to the hallway. He used the bathroom before moving to the living room. Black was sitting on the sofa, curled up into a ball of darkness with glowing green eyes. Lance’s eyes flickered to the mess on the floor and he went to the kitchen, getting a dustpan and brush out from the cupboard under the sink (a total guess) and kneeling on the floor in the living room to clear it up. It was unusable now. He took the sim card and left it on the table, brushing off the mess into the bin and putting the dustpan and brush back.

When he returned to the living room, Blue was stood by the sofa and sniffing Black, her tail wagging. Immediately Lance thought to break them up in case Blue got scratched but instead, as Blue began licking the top of his head, Black began purring. He decided against it, instead beginning to clean up the living room.

He wanted to show Shiro that he appreciated the whole ‘not being killed’ thing and this was his way of doing it, not that he knew any other way to show thanks to someone like Shiro without looking like an idiot. How was he supposed to thank him, anyway? It wasn’t as simple as Shiro finished his paperwork for him or he pushed him out of the way of a bike. Shiro was risking his damn neck to help him like this.

Lance glanced at the sofa and cursed at Blue, who had jumped onto it and was getting quickly excited. She was about to start barking and yapping. Lance whistled and snapped for her to get down, making her sit and telling her to calm down. She yapped and got scolded, Lance holding her mouth closed. “Shut up,” he whispered to her. “Blue, please be quiet. We can’t disturb Takashi. Please,” he said softly, petting the top of her head calmingly. Her tail slowly stopped wagging and she whined softly. That was Lance’s cue to let go of her and she lay down, paws over her muzzle in shame. All Lance could do was hope he hadn’t disturbed Takashi. Please, please for the love of god, tell him he hadn’t disturbed Takashi.

Takashi hadn’t been disturbed, really, because he wasn’t asleep. Instead he was sat down in the center of his bed, writing out a checklist for the things he needed to get taken care of. He wrote with a nice, back inked gel pen on a hand held note pad he could easily fit in his pocket. He had started writing out this list just thirty minutes earlier, after he let Black out of his room to go to her litter box. So far, he only had four main points. 

Ditch the car without being seen   
See if Zarkon suspected anything or not.   
Find somewhere to send Lance.   
Get him there. 

Four points. Only four in thirty minutes. Small in numbers, colossal in task. Easy on paper, terrifyingly trying in action. Shiro tapped the back of the pen on his pad, thinking hard. Each point was going to need its own page of description -- its own sub-categorized to-do list. 

He flipped to the next page, and wrote down the first point on the first line. Ditching the car was easy enough, he figured. The easiest task out of the four, without a doubt. Shiro figured he’d think through that one first. 

But then he heard a yapping-bark through the thin walls of his apartment, and looked up over his shoulder. He stared at the wall that separated his bedroom from his living room, and listened harder, furrowing his brow. Another yip, and a frantic shushing. Lance’s hushed voice gave a worried plea to his dog, and then the noises fell silent. 

So he was awake. 

Worried for the sake of his cat, and the sake of his apartment, Shiro decided to stand up. He joints ached and his head still pounded. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. His body yearned for the bed. Shiro stretched, gave a quick yawn into his fist, and groped for his sweatshirt to throw over his chest. He had taken it off sometime in his daze from earlier, but he didn't remember. All he knew was that his upper torso was bare, and it wasn’t before. Shiro then left his room, still pulling the hoodie over his stomach, and wandered out in the hall. 

Lance was standing by the couch, his frightened gaze quickly flicked over to Shiro. He pretended to ignore it, and wandered over to the kitchen, reaching down for Black’s bowl set. He turned and pulled Black’s food cans -- expensive wet foot with a dash of veterinarian approved dry food -- from the upper cabinet. Upon hearing the familiar sounds of breakfast, Black, who had been on the couch next to Blue, jumped down and padded his way, chirping with excitement. 

“Good morning,” Shiro said in a sweet mumble to his cat as she rubbed on his legs. He looked up towards Lance, wiped the smile from his face, and darkened his features a bit. “Morning.” 

Lance was sitting on the floor with Blue lying by him, on her back, getting belly rubs. Her tongue was hanging out of her mouth and she was lying awkwardly, waving her arms around for more attention. When she saw Shiro, he stole her attention by speaking, she immediately got up and barked happily at him, getting quickly shushed by Lance. Immediately in the kitchen, she jumped up on her back legs and waved her paws at him before they settled on his stomach. Her tail was wagging, her eyes on Shiro while she waited to be pet.

“Morning- Blue, down!” She whimpered. “No, none of that. Down! Seriously!” He said quickly, watching her drop and lie on the floor at his feet. “Sorry. Sorry about her, I’ll get her to break that habit. I promise.” He watched as Blue began sniffing Black again, infatuated by him.

He rubbed his arm sheepishly, glancing at the floor, feeling a lot less awkward than the night before and much, much less emotional but he wasn’t any less intimidated by Shiro. “Did… did you get any sleep?”

Shiro had suffered through Blue’s affection with a distasteful frown on his face. He sighed when she had dropped back to the floor, and placed Black’s full food bowls on the countertop. Afraid Blue would want to eat them herself, Shiro leaned down and picked Black up. He set her down next to her food, and turned around to watch the curious Blue as the cat ate. The dog looked up at him, ears back against her cocked head, sniffing the air. He broke, and reached down to rub her head. 

“Yeah, sure. I slept fine,” Shiro lied as he scratched behind Blue’s ear. He thought about asking Lance back, but then quickly decided against it. They weren’t friends. Small talk wasn’t why Lance had been standing in his living room. Shiro wasn’t risking his life for a simple ‘how did you sleep?’ every morning. 

Then what are you risking your life for, Takashi?

Shiro shook his head and spoke up again. 

“Did you pack any food for Blue? Or do I need to buy some when I’m out?” 

Lance nodded and disappeared into his room, Blue approaching Black again but only showing interest in her, not her food. When she did, Lance had already come back and all he needed to do was whistle and she moved back over to him. He got out the biscuits and tins of wet food that he’d brought.

“I can make Blue’s food,” he said as he pet the top of her head. A few moments of silence passed.

He stood, looking up at Shiro. “Look, I don’t know how exactly to thank you for this. It’s a really- really big thing that you did for me but I just can’t quite comprehend it and I’m not sure what to do to thank you properly so… so please-” he was about to take Shiro’s hand or put a hand on his shoulder or something when he remembered who he was talking to. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do. Anything at all. I don’t doubt you’re risking your life to do this for me so- so anything. I don’t care- anything at all.”

Shiro stayed quiet for a moment, watching Lance with a blank look in his eyes. 

“I just need you to listen to what I tell you to do,” Shiro said after his long pause. “Messing with the mafia… with Zarkon… it’s delicate. I know what I’m doing. I just need you to trust me. That’s it.” 

Shiro turned away from Lance, not wanting to see his reaction. “I’m going out to ditch the car today. I’ll be gone for a while. Is there anything you need? Tell me now before I get in the shower.” 

Lance glanced at the floor a little again, feeling hurt that not even his attempt to help was working. “I- What time do you expect to be back? And I want to do something to make it up to you so I’ll… Can I do the cooking? At the minimum, I just- I want to help…” he focused back on asking. “If it’s okay for me to cook, what do you want me to make for dinner? So that I can get started before you get back if I need to.” He shifted his weight between his feet for a few moments, the silence making him feel like he shouldn’t have asked. “I mean- I- I don’t want to overstep and try taking over so if you don’t want me to then- then just say so-”

Shiro opened his mouth to tell Lance that he was ridiculous, but then he stopped. He stopped because what was he doing? Shooting down the option of exploitable labor? Lance’s repeated pleas for work should have been a Goddamn gold mine. Shiro could take so, so many advantages of him. Lance could clean for him. Lance could empty Black’s litter box. Lance could take care of every little annoying task Shiro wouldn’t feel like doing. Shiro basically had a willing servant in his grasp. 

But why did he feel so wrongly about it? 

Lance wanted to work. Lance wanted to help. Shiro could tell that much from the look in his eyes and that desperate lift of his voice. So why was it Shiro felt bad… God, why did Shiro feel bad at all? Lance being there was a nuisance all together. The guy deserved to be put to work. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever, I’m tired of take-out,” Shiro said after his quick moment of contemplation. He still felt confused, and his answer did nothing to chip away that disoriented feeling in his system. He shook his head. “Uh… I… I don’t know. Like, uh, fucking steak or something. I think there’s one in the freezer for some reason -- Keith gave it to me.” His last bit was a grumbled sort of stutter as he made his way to the bathroom. He stopped at the door, and turned. “I’ll be in the shower. When Black’s done eating, take her bowl off the counter. There’s, uh, also cereal in the cabinet.” 

Then, a bit flustered, Shiro escaped into the bathroom. 

Lance watched him leave and went to the kitchen, taking out the steak and moving it to the fridge so it could defrost, humming softly to himself. He bit his tongue a little when he realised he was humming, silencing himself and focusing solely on what he was supposed to do. He approached Black and reached down to allow her to smell him and hoping she’d like him but a hiss and a scratch later, he got the hint. He sighed a little and began rummaging through what Shiro had for him to cook with so that he could start figuring out what he was going to make. He was trying not to think about Shiro.

Shower done, Shiro dressed himself in his casual civilian outfit in his room. There was the gentle scratching at his door, and a long, angry meow just as he pulled his grey sweater over his head. He stepped over, and opened the door just a crack, to which the irritated Black promptly jumped through. She hopped up on his bed, curled her tail over her legs, head turned upwards. Shiro snorted, and made his way over to her -- mistakenly leaving the door open. 

“What?” He asked slowly in a drawled coo. “What’s the matter baby? You don’t like the company?”

Shiro scooped her up, and held her close on his chest. She, apparently having lost her attitude, leaned her head into his chin, and purred up a storm. He scratched behind her ears some, still talking in the ridiculous voice. Lance’s eyes widened as he heard it and he covered his mouth to avoid laughing, listening in.

“Mm, yeah, I know, it sucks,” he told her. “But it’s okay, pretty girl. It’s okay.” Shiro kissed the top of her head. “I love you.” He drew out the you a bit dramatically, before putting her down back on his bed. Shiro then began to hunt for his shoes, still oblivious to the open door.

Lance had soon decided on what he was making and had gotten out the ingredients, working on that to focus on literally anything other than Shiro baby talking his cat, his heart light. He knew he shouldn’t laugh, he shouldn’t risk letting Shiro know that he had heard him doing that- Lance would rather he kept his ears. He was beginning to catch on to the kind of abuse he would get for anything. 

He smiled softly, closing his eyes. He already had a meal imaged in his head but, as promised, Shiro only had one steak. Lance planned on making himself a small portion of pasta and letting Shiro have the nicer food. Blue was sitting beside him, whining loudly- Lance remembered that he needed to make food for her, getting out a tin of dog food and some biscuits. He gave half a tin of dog food and a handful of biscuits, setting a bowl down on the floor beside Black’s.

Shiro, still looking for his boots, wandered out in the hall. Maybe he actually did take them off by the door the night before -- he didn't quite know. It was all still sort of hazy. He went into the kitchen, scouring the doormat, when he caught sight of Lance’s sly grin. Shiro turned to him, and narrowed his eyes. 

“What?” He asked sharply. Lance’s eyes flickered to Shiro and he smiled a little more before biting his lip and forcing his lips into a straight line. Well, as much as he could.

“Mm? No- No, it’s nothing. It’s nothing at all. Sorry,” he said as he turned his gaze back to Blue and the cat who had slinked over and began eating Blue’s food from his bowl. Lance reached down to nudge her away and only narrowly avoided another scratch. “I- Uhh… Can- Can you… stop her?” He asked Shiro with a frown, glancing at the cat and then back at Shiro. He already had three cuts on the back of his hand from the first attack.

Shiro, having found his boots inappropriately slumped by the couch, shrugged with an uninterested sort of grunt. “She’ll stop when she wants to,” he mumbled, plopping down on the sofa. He began to pull his shoes on. “She’s spoiled. She gets what she wants. Nothing I can do about it.”

Lance looked at him, his mouth hanging open slightly. He sighed a little and got another handful of biscuits, adding them to the bowl so that Blue would have more to eat. He ran his hands through his hair, moving away and starting to his room. “I’ll be in here, out of your way,” he said as he opened the door. “I’ll leave the door open for Blue. She’ll come in eventually and I’ll shut the door. If you need me just knock,” he mumbled as he moved inside, leaving the door open ever so slightly. Shortly, he settled down on his bed and opened a baby blue backpack he’d brought with him, taking out a sketchbook. He flicked to the newest clean page and a couple of his drawings of Shiro, beginning to sketch it again. He needed to distract himself now, and evidently distracting himself from Shiro by drawing Shiro was the best choice he had.

Shiro shrugged and watched him go, still lacing up his boots. He stood, stretched, and yawned once again. God, how he was tired. His whole system had been out of whack still from the night before, his head still a bit fogged, even after his shower. He tried to ignore it, however, and made his way the the counter. Shiro pulled his notepad from his back pocket, laid it out on the countertop, and leaned forward. He flipped to the right page, and plucked a random pen from a cup of them he had sitting beside an empty fruit bowl. 

Now, how was he going to ditch that damn car. 

Junkyard was his first guess. He could go, mask and all, and pay off one of the workers to let him dump it there. The only thing he had to worry about was the morals of the worker he’d wager with -- but Shiro was sure he could tip a scale or two with a threatening glow of his prosthetic. It was either that, or driving somewhere far away to an unguarded dock, and pushing the damn thing into the ocean. That was a more tiring way, but a safer one, and one without the vexation of human contact. No matter what he did, he was going to have to destroy the plates. Zarkon’s orders. 

Still split on what to do, he reached for his personal phone, and shot Keith a message, explaining his dilemma. 

Keith replied with a fast: i’d say ocean but then how r u going to get back?

Shiro answered him with: uber?

Keith: then the uber driver would see ur face dude

Shiro: masks are a thing that exists

Keith: suspicious. u could just suck it up and walk i guess

Shiro thought about that for a moment. He really could. Deciding for the more laborious of the two options, Shiro shot Keith a simple ‘okay’ and deleted the conversation. He closed his phone, placed it on the counter, and wrote down his plan of action on his notepad. 

He would drive the car out to Jersey to some abandoned dock or bay, and check for cameras. He’d disable the cameras, if need be, and proceed to push the car out into the ocean from a far dock. It’s be cold -- the spray of the ocean water and the harsh wind of the beach -- so he needed to dress a little warmer. A mask for sure, especially if he had to deal with cameras. Afterwards he’d walk his sorry way to a bus, bus his sorry way to the train station, and then get back into the city around dinner time. 

By then, Lance will have you a well earned meal, right? 

Shiro blushed a little, and refrained from writing that bit down. He began gathering the stuff he needed for his long venture out. Before he left, he decided to tell Lance the plan. He knocked on the doorframe, and waited for an answer.

“Yeah?” Lance called softly, his eyes not leaving his notepad. He wasn’t focused too much on who he was talking to, occupied solely on his drawing. He had made it as accurate as possible, including details from every drawing he had done and was now completing the sketch by sharpening the lines. He smiled slightly as he worked. It was a pleasant distraction. He wasn’t sure what Shiro would think of it- he’d probably find it weird- but it had killed plenty of time so he wasn’t fussed. It would probably take him a couple hours to finish and then he would get started on dinner. He didn’t know what time Shiro was likely to get back, so he could only hope that the meal would be ready in time.

Lance’s door had still been cracked open for Blue, so Shiro took the liberty of peeking inside. Lance had been sitting on the bed, hunched over his sketchbook, a look of furrowed concentration plastered about his face. Shiro watched him draw a moment, wondering what it had been he had been focusing so intently on. Shiro, for the swiftest of moments, thought it might have been him. 

He shook his head quickly. 

“I’m going out. I’ll be gone for five hours at most. Longer depending on traffic and train shit,” he explained lazily, pretending he hadn’t been so curious about what had been in Lance’s sketchpad. “I’m going to Jersey to dump the car. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. If your dog needs to use the bathroom… uh… I…” He trailed off, not really knowing what Lance could do. “Disguise yourself before you go out. Like really well. I have some big coats and more bandanas in the closet by the front door you can use those. And don’t take a walk around the city, either. Let her piss or whatever and then go back inside. You got all that?”

Lance looked at the door, nodding. “Got it! Will do,” he said happily. “Hey, can you… uhh, come in? Just for a moment. I want to check something,” he said softly as he held up his drawing pad. “It’ll take just a second, promise.” his eyes turned to the sliver between the door and the wall, waiting to see how Shiro would react to his request. He thought that the scar was drawn wrong- he just needed to check.

Confused, and a bit hasty to get his long mission over with, Shiro walked reluctantly into the room. He stopped about a foot from the bed, and crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to peer over the edge of Lance’s sketchbook, but Lance had it tilted too far forwards, and Shiro didn't want to seem too interested. 

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “Here I am, I guess. What is it you need?”

Lance’s eyes flickered from Shiro to the drawing and back a few times. “Ah- Fuck!” he said as he brought the pad back. “It’s the eyebrow, sorry- I-” he turned red and turned his drawing pad to face Shiro. “The eyebrow doesn’t arch enough so you look a bit… sad. I-” turning ever redder, he pulled his hand back. “Sorry, it’s probably weird, I just- you’re fun to draw and-” he bit his tongue and looked away. Fucking smooth going, Lance.

Shiro, in an unexpected turn of events, felt his face flush to the deepest blush he ever would think to be possible. Quickly, he looked down at his shoes, pretending he hadn’t felt that rush of warmth in his chest. Pretending he hadn’t felt his heart skip a quick beat at Lance’s sincereness. Pretending he hadn’t felt so flattered. 

The drawing had been really, really nice. Shiro had to admit that. The little he saw of it before Lance brought his hand back down made his head spin a bit at the talent. But Lance had been right -- the drawing looked a bit sad. A swarm of unnecessary pondering overwhelmed him at the thought. Did Lance think Shiro looked sad? Was Shiro letting too much shine through his confident exterior? The thought of Lance pitying him was enough to spur about hives… yet… at the same time…

At the same time it felt nice. It felt like that same niceness a few days ago when Shiro had met Lance on the outskirts of Midtown. The idea of Lance’s concern made his bitter insides thaw a bit. 

Shiro hated how nice it felt. 

Eyes still on the ground, Shiro shrugged his shoulders. “It’s fine,” he grumbled. “We all have our hobbies…” Shiro trailed off, wondering if he should have added his next thought. He supposed he should have. “You’re good at that. Drawing.” 

He paused again. “I… I need to get going. I have a lot to do.” 

Lance looked up at him and turned even more red, even if it wasn’t possible, at the subtle praise. He thanked him quietly as Shiro left, embarrassed, and set the notepad back down so that he could change the arch of the eyebrow and decided just to focus wholly on the art. Eventually Blue came in and jumped onto the bed, lying down beside him to keep Lance company while he sketched. He enjoyed this, drawing, and he soon dug some paints out of his sketchpad. He first blocked in the background- black with a purple fade around Shiro’s silhouette. Then he began working on the basics of his facial shape and marking the highlights and shadows. He didn’t finish, though, getting as far as the basic lighting for the skin not even blocking in the rest of him, when he checked the time. Shiro must have left hours ago.

He was quickly in the kitchen, taking the steak from the fridge and putting it on a tray, sliding it into the oven. He then took out several different types of vegetable, slicing everything up and getting the pans ready to cook them. He enjoyed cooking, turning the radio onto a pop station and swaying his hips as he hummed along to the loud music.

It was playing too loudly for him to hear if anyone came in. Soon the food was all cooking and Lance was just humming, dancing to himself, murmuring the lyrics. It may have been a bit… sad, seeing him dancing on his own in the kitchen. He liked it, though. He liked dancing and having his eyes closed helped him imagine he was back in his shitty apartment without any of this shit going on.

 

Shiro’s day, as expected, was absolute garbage. 

The plan, of course, went well -- but every bit and piece of it degraded and killed Shiro’s already delicate mood with ease. There was the drive to Jersey; the road riddled with idiots and traffic from some accident on the turnpike. There was his walk on the beach scouring for cameras; the air viciously windy and sharp. There was ditching the car itself; which proved him to be an absolute idiot when the ocean water splashed up back at him in a wave of bitter salt and chill. There was walking in desperate search for a bus stop, dripping wet and shivering from cold the whole way. The bus was filled with people, each with their dirty looks and scrunched noses as the smell of fish and salt. The train had been even worse -- late, and crowded with judgement. 

On top of all of that, it rained on him during his walk back to his complex. 

Shiro’s clothes had still been soaked when he made his miserable way up to his apartment door. His flesh crawled with shivers, and his hand trembled when he went to unlock all his locks. His stomach felt an odd sort of concave, and his mouth was dry. Shiro’s nose was already runny, and he could feel a nasty cough already brewing about in his chest. On top of everything else, Shiro was going to be sick. 

Fucking perfect. 

He reached for the door knob, and only just turned it when he fully recognized the sound booming from inside his apartment. It was music. Shiro strained his ears some more, wildly confused, and incredibly tired. He heard a familiar voice singing along to it, the pitch and the vocals unbelievably on-key. 

Sighing, Shiro turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped inside, wondering what sight he’d have to see before him. 

Lance was in the kitchen. The radio Shiro hadn’t used since four years ago had been plugged in and dusted, blasting music through its tiny speakers from its neat spot on the counter. Lance, Blue parading around beside his feet, danced along, singing without a single care in the world. His eyes were closed. His body moved with professional ease. His voice moved along with the autotuned words of whatever pop song he had playing. Lance sang well -- not any sort of American Idol worthy, but well enough it was nice to hear. 

Shiro watched him in a sort of shock, forgetting about his sickening chill as he closed the door behind him. The apartment, along with the sounds of Lance’s song and Lance’s laughter, hung thick with the mouth watering smell of steak. That home cooked meal suddenly seemed a whole hell of a lot better to his painfully empty stomach than the soggy half of his sub Shiro had in his refrigerator. Blue could have that. Shiro had a real meal that night. 

Done watching, Shiro took a few steps forward. He approached the radio, and, eyes still on the dancing Lance, turned it down a few clicks. He hoped it would draw Lance’s attention. Frowning as the volume was lower, Shiro’s diversion was successful.

Upon realising that Shiro had entered and could have been stood there for anywhere between five and ten minutes, Lance’s eyes widened and red crept onto his face, spreading from the tips of his ears to his neck.  
“I- I uh-” he looked Shiro over and frowned. He was soaked! “You’re sopping wet! Get out of those clothes,” he said as he approached and began tugging Shiro’s jacket off of him. “You need a hot bath and dry clothes! You’re going to catch your death like this! Come on, get all of this off,” he took the jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, frowning as he started to the bathroom.

Shiro complied with a dazed sort of shock, letting Lance pull him towards the bathroom. He watched from the doorway as Lance ran the bath, unable to argue with every chiding reprimand that left Lance’s lips. Shiro couldn’t even find himself to be angry. 

Lance put the plug in the bath and turned on the hot tap, letting the hot water process and begin filling the bath before turning on the cold tap, too. He even picked up some random bottle from the edge of the bath and added it to the tub, filling the water with bubbles. He began through to Shiro again. “Come on, change! You need to get out of those.” he turned the heat on the oven down. “I’ll have your steak ready for when you’re warm and dry. Do you want a cup of coffee or something? You’ll warm up again in no time.”

Evidently he became a mother in situations like these. “Takashi- are you okay? You’re shivering. Did everything go okay today?”

“I-I…” Shiro trailed off, overwhelmed.

The kindness was unsettling. The concern seemed to hit him like a truck. The vulnerability of it all almost hurt -- like a swift punch to his gut. He forgot what it was like to feel so cared for. All of the angry discords of feeling, along with the spurring cold in his system, almost pushed him to the edge of delirium. Only when he felt his eyes get a bit too hot for his liking, did he snap out of it.

“I… I’m fine, Lance,” he murmured weakly. He turned away and reached up to wipe his face, trying to blame the sudden wetness of his eyes on his sniffles. “It went well or whatever. Just… rained a lot. Obviously.” 

Lance nodded. He looked up at him and smiled a little. “Get some fresh clothes and get into the bath. I’ll be in the kitchen and I’ll bring you your steak as soon as you’re ready to eat, okay?” he said in a much softer voice, moving back from Shiro and letting him leave to go do as he was told. He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned for Shiro’s safety but he was glad that he wasn’t suddenly an asshole because of their history.  
He did care about him, after all. He was making no attempts to cover that up.

Shiro stood alone in the bathroom, Lance having closed the door behind him. He tried to run the conversation over again in his head, the confusion and the confliction heavy in his system. How could Lance be so… so concerned all of a sudden? Shouldn’t he hate Shiro will all of the passion in his heart? Wasn’t he still afraid that Shiro would remove his tongue in his sleep? What was with the sudden trust? The sympathy? The kindness? It all hurt Shiro’s head, spiralling him back into his migraine. 

Shiro casted his eyes over to the bath, and watched the alluring steam lift off from the surface of the bubbles. He drew his tremulous hand to his sopping shirt, and looked down at himself. 

Might as well do what he says. 

So Shiro peeled off his shirt and stripped off his pants. He settled himself down in the tub, and tried to relax the uncomfortable tenseness of his body. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had taken a bath -- maybe he hadn’t even had one since he was a kid. That had to be why he suddenly felt so awkward and exposed. Shiro tried to sink down a little more, hoping to cover the array of scars scrawled about his chest in the bubbles. He suddenly wondered what Lance would think of him if he had happened to wander back inside of the bathroom. 

Shiro laid in the bathtub, growing more comfortable as the minutes passed. The warmth of the water leached the deep chill from his taut muscles, and soothed the tensioned feeling of his joints. The tiredness began to catch up to him again, and Shiro felt his eyelids droop. He fought against the sleep, however, and shook his head every time he felt himself slip into drowsy slumber. After awhile of snapping himself out of sleeping, and after the shivers had left his system, Shiro figured Lance would be done cooking any time soon, and decided to get out. 

He stepped out, wrapped himself in a towel, and pulled the stopper from the drain. He leaned against the bathroom counter and drip dried as he watched the water drain from the tub, listening to the trickling of the water as it washed and gurgled through the plumbing pipes. Shiro then left to his room, threw on a pair of sweatpants, and a larger, baggier hoodie, and went back out into the kitchen -- barefoot. His hair was still damp as he watched Lance, who was sitting at the table. 

Shiro cleared his throat to grab Lance’s attention. 

Lance was sat at the kitchen table, currently working on his painting of Shiro. He had just put the brush into the water when Shiro caught his attention. So far, the painting was almost, almost done. The skin tone had been complete and Lance was blocking in the colours for his hair and eyes and jewellery. That was all he needed to do and he was done. Most of it, the more difficult bit, had been completed. When texturing skin, he’d need to take into account the warmth and the lighting and every single little detail, but with the hair he only really needed to think about the lighting.

He stood quickly, smiling at him. “How do you feel?” he asked as he opened the oven, slipping on the oven gloves as he got out the steak and vegetables, taking out a plate for Shiro and beginning to dish up. He’d make himself some pasta or something quick when Shiro was done eating and doing something to relax or whatever. “Better? It usually helps me to have a shower after walking in the cold rain.” He set the plate down on the table opposite where he had been sitting, going to a cupboard and being on his tiptoes to open it. “What do you want to drink? You have a half-empty bottle of wine, if you want that?”

“Yeah, I feel better,” Shiro mumbled sheepishly. He rubbed his shoulder, looking down at the floor. He had taken out his contacts, and instead wore his glasses. They, like normal, had slid down the bridge of his nose. Shiro pushed them back up again before he answered. “Wine is fine. You can have some too, I guess.” 

Shiro gave a weak smirk and looked up at him. “If you’re old enough, that is.” 

Lance’s eyes flickered to him as he got out the wine glasses, almost dropping them when he saw Shiro with glasses. Fuck. He turned redder than the damn wine and looked back at the task at hand, focusing on pouring both of them some wine. He soon came over and set some wine down by Shiro’s plate and his own. “Thanks,” he said as he picked up his paintbrushes, wiping the smallest one dry. He tried to be subtle when he looked at Shiro to check that it was accurate, biting his lip as he brushed over the water lines under Shiro’s eye and dotted along where the eyelashes were going to be- when he got his pens out. He didn’t like doing detail like that in paint. He only occasionally stopped to sip his wine, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth slightly as he focused.

Blue was sitting by the table- of course she was, there was food- and let her head rest on Shiro’s leg, looking up at him. Lance didn’t notice and wasn’t paying enough attention to listen to her whining so he didn’t tell her to stop or go lie down. He rarely got this focused- and it was because of Shiro, who wasn’t actually as much of an asshole as expected.

Shiro gazed down at his plate with a nervous sort of reluctance. It smelt good. The spices and and seasonings made his already painfully empty stomach seize with yearning. But… accepting a homemade meal from a man he didn’t know all that well? It set off some warning lights in his mafia trained mind. Shiro glanced up at Lance, who didn’t seem to have anything to eat. It burned at his suspicion some more. 

“You’re not eating?” He asked quietly, rubbing his shoulder. 

His eyes kept drifting back to his full platter, want misting in his mind. God, how he wished he wasn’t like that. He just wanted to eat in peace. 

“Hm?” Lance’s eyes flickered up to him and he smiled a little. “No, no, there was only one steak so I made enough for one person. I-I was just planning on having some pasta or something,” he answered honestly as he glanced at Shiro’s plate and then back at his painting. “Why?” He could tell it wasn’t because Shiro ‘cared about him’.

Shiro’s face, for what had to be the third time that day, flushed a bit. He looked down. “It’s, uh, it’s nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

Jesus. Whatever. If it’s poison I’ll just die, and Lance will have to fend for his damn self. 

Shiro, shrugging, picked up the fork and cut into the steak. He took his first bite, and had to keep himself from smiling. God, that was nice. He ate some more, a bit too fast for his liking, and kept a good eye on Lance. Every time he’d flick his eyes upwards at the man across from him, he’d meet Lance’s own spying ones, and then watch them shoot back down to the drawing pad. 

After awhile of silence, Shiro cleared his throat a little. “You sure you don't want anything? I’ll give you half or whatever,” he mumbled gruffly. 

Lance looked up at him, smiling a little.  
“No, no, you don’t have to. I don’t mind. You’re the one who actually /does/ work, all I’ve done today is cook and draw.” Blue put her paws on Shiro’s lap and whined up at him, sniffing around and at his food. Lance smiled softly.  
“Just tell her to sit or get down. If she’s on your lap then it’s only a matter of time before she takes your dinner and runs.” Lance turned his attention back to the painting. It was almost completed, he was really excited.

Shiro looked down at Blue and gave another shrug. He wasn’t all that good at disciplining animals -- which was incredibly ironic if he had to say so himself, with his talent at disciplining people in mind. Shiro shifted his leg, and pulled it out from under Blue’s paw. He looked back to his plate, to the dog, and to the plate again. 

“Can she not have steak?” He asked slowly. “I mean, I don’t normally eat this much. She can have some if she wants it.”

“She can,” Lance said as he bit his tongue. “She just… It’s best not to let her start eating your food or she won’t stop,” he said as he whistled for her, snapping his fingers. She moved off of Shiro’s lap, still sniffing at the food. Lance set the brushes down again and smiled softly as he took a pen. He began adding details, outlining Shiro to give him a more striking difference against the background. He then worked on the eyelashes and added any other details necessary, smiling proudly. He was finally finished with the painting. Shyly, he turned it over and showed Shiro. “It needs a little while to dry properly, but- I-” he hid his face behind the sketchbook, turning red.

Shiro took a good look at Lance’s painting in wordless awe. His heart fluttered in his chest for the shortest lived moment, and his face grew all the more pink. But… despite his sudden sheepishness, he didn't look away. He was too intrigued. Rather, he ran his eyes over the delicate tones and the masterly crafted lighting. The patiently perfected lining of Shiro’s lashes and jaw. The careful coloring of the eyes, and the offputting emotion they captured. The pink flesh of his scar and the blush of his cheeks. 

It was all like looking in some sort of mirror… one that made him nicer than he was in real life. Shiro brought an unconscious hand to his face, and touched his cheek, turning his head to the side. He almost half expected the more beautiful Shiro to do the same. 

“Huh,” he said quietly. Shiro managed to pull his eyes down on his plate. “It’s nice… Not exact though. Looks a little nicer than I do.” 

Shiro shook his head and put his silverware on his plate. He started to stand up, scooping up his dish to take to the sink. He offered Black and Blue bits of steak -- to which they both accepted with clear excitement-- before he cleared everything off and dumped his plate in the sink. He thought about saying thanks for dinner… he thought about it back and forth for what had to be an awkwardly long time. 

“Steak was good. I’ve been living off of fucking take out for the past few months -- I was getting bored. Thanks, I guess.” 

After everything Lance had done, even if it all made Shiro’s insides whirl with violent confusion and discomfort, he figured the guy deserved it. Nodding a little, Lance smiled shyly.  
“It was nothing, really,” he murmured as he took the page out of his sketchbook. “Do you… do you want this? I’m not sure what I’ll do with it- I’ve not got anywhere I can put it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, just wanting Shiro to have it. He’d worked hard on it and Shiro had seemed to like it, so… it just seemed to make sense to give it to him. “But dinner was fun to cook, I like cooking,” he admitted as he rubbed his shoulder, a small and fond smile on his lips.

Shiro didn’t exactly know what to say. He certainly didn’t have a place to put it — maybe a spot on his dresser he could set it beside some old dog tags or something. He didn’t quite know if he wanted a picture of himself in his room… his present self anyways. The only pictures he had were before he went overseas. When he was younger and brighter. When he was the star football player aiming for Valedictorian. When he wanted to go work for NASA. When his body was clean of scars and his hair was all black and he had two working arms. 

When he didn't know what it was like to take someones life. 

Shiro looked at the painting a moment. A long moment. He could have just said no. 

But was that rude? God, why did he care? He shouldn’t have given two shits about Lance and his feelings. But his stomach churned at the idea of shooting Lance down. Shiro, taking the easier of the two options, ducked his head and held out his hand. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” 

Lance grinned, his face lighting up as he held out the painting for Shiro. He was clearly proud of the painting and incredibly happy that Shiro accepted the painting he’d spent all day working on. He shifted awkwardly where he was stood, Blue walking over and wagging her tail happily, only standing by Lance for a few moments before going to Shiro and jumping up at him. She’d taken a liking to him quite quickly. Lance wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he could tell that Black didn’t appreciate it.

Lance was quite right — Black did not appreciate Blue’s liking and attention of her Shiro. Shiro noticed her attitude when she hopped up on the counter, glowering down at the dog that pranced about Shiro’s feet. Feeling guilty, Shiro have Blue a soft pat on the head and left to the living room. 

He gently placed the pairing atop the television stand, and searched for the remote he had lost the night before. Shiro noticed the absence of the mess he had made the night before with a blush. Shiro decided not to say anything about it, plucked the remote from its inappropriate spot on the floor, and settled down on the couch. He flicked on some news channel, and watched — looking for anything he recognized. He could feel the burn of Lance’s eyes from the kitchen, and recognized it with a grimace. Lance shot his gaze down to Blue.

“News,” he grumbled with a roll of his eyes. Seeing nothing, he clicked to the next channel. “I didn’t have time to check it this morning.” 

Lance nodded, moving to slip into the sofa beside Shiro, keeping a little distance between the two of them. He stayed quiet, Blue jumping up on the sofa beside him. He didn’t notice, just watching the screen before him as he stayed curled up, hugging his knees to his chest. He just watched the screen, absorbing the information while he could. That was when his own face appeared on the screen- an image of himself from the graduation of the police academy.

“And in alternate news, Lance McClain, twenty-three year old police officer, has been reported missing as of twelve pm today. He was last seen leaving the police precinct at half seven in the evening. He failed to appear at work and a close friend of his, Hunk Garrett, also a police officer from the same precinct, visited his home and claimed that there was no sign he’d been there. He also reports that bags and a great many of his items have been removed. There is no security footage of him exiting his building or of anyone entering. The police encourage anyone who knows of his current whereabouts to call in and report sightings.”

Lance was silent, pale, his eyes welling up with tears. Blue nudged his leg and whimpered, licking Lance’s hand as some kind of reassurance.

So, he had already made it onto the news then.

Shiro held the remote tightly in his hand, reading through the reports, hanging onto every word with a nervous apprehension. He felt the pressure in his chest suddenly release at that perfect phrase: “no security footage...” His thorough planning and extensive measures had paid off. They hadn’t been seen. 

He casted a look at Lance, glowing with boisterous pride and gloat, but felt his sly smirk falter at the look of Lance himself. The officer had paled, leaning forward on the couch -- eyes wide and unblinking as they scanned the screen before him. His brow was raised in a look of pained shock. His hands had clenched into fists at his sides. His eyes were welling with a fine wall of tears. Blue licked at his hand to see what had been the matter, but Lance paid her no attention. He was eerily transfixed upon the television. 

Shiro had to admit he didn't quite understand Lance’s horrified reaction. News stories bearing those blunt details and results were a blessing among men. It was the true reward for their success. The media's stupefaction. Their pondering ignorance. Didn't Lance get that? 

He’s not like you. He’s not in the mafia. He’s got a family and friends to worry about, dumbass. 

Shiro blushed and turned away from Lance, back to the television. Quickly, he tapped to the next number -- giving some scores from the latest Sunday night football game. He kept his head straight forward, pretending like he cared about the New York Giants and their wins and their tackles and their field goals.

He didn't know if he should have said something. He didn't know if he should have told Lance those were all good things. That he shouldn’t be so dumb and clingy to his past. To get over it. 

Those words on his reluctant tongue, Shiro thought about how concerned Lance had been about him earlier. Something sharp panged his stomach. 

Lance, when the screen changed, seemed to snap out of it enough to move. He leant back in the chair, tense, and stared at his hands as Blue nudged them and licked them.

“I… I used to play,” Shiro blurted stupidly, these new words tumbling from his mouth as he stuffed the old ones away. Maybe that was the best thing to do. Change the conversation. Shift the topic. He gestured the tv. “Football. I used to play. In highschool or whatever. I was the best mother fucker on the team, man.” 

Lance’s eyes then flickered to Shiro and he tried to grasp the words he was saying. He could notice the cursing and the… pride, he assumed, in his voice. The words were processing- football, high school, best- but they weren’t quite stringing together. They were just words thrown into an incoherent sentence. Absently, though, he nodded as if he was paying attention to encourage him to continue. His eyes fixed on Shiro’s, moving to his lips as they formed words he still couldn’t properly process and his eyebrows whenever they moved. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly struggling to focus.

He should have expected this. Why had he stayed when Shiro was watching the news? Had he not expected to be missed? To be reported missing? Did it hurt more that Hunk had been the one to call in or that he was the only one who cared and he didn’t figure anything out until his lunch break the following day? To them… he was just gone. He’d disappeared out of nowhere. They could think he was dead. They could think anything. He’d never see any of them again. He willed himself to focus on Shiro, entirely unaware that hot tears were rolling down his cheeks as his thoughts spiralled.

Maybe he should have been shot. That way Hunk would have at least known what had happened. Then his family wouldn’t be lost, wondering where he’d went. Then they’d at least know exactly what had happened to him. The note in his drawer at work would have provided all necessary information for them to know it was a mafia killing and that he’d known Takashi, and that was why.

The worst part was that he could still die here. At any point, any given moment, Shiro could get sick of him. He could be shot, he could get stabbed, he could even be strangled. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he cared. He just… he wanted people to know what had happened to him.

It hurt to think that his life was suddenly going to be an unsolved case atop of a pile of others, possibly one being worked by his closest friends. 

Shiro felt himself physically grimace to himself at Lance’s tears. He turned away quickly, looking towards his feet, biting the inside of his cheek. So maybe he had said the wrong thing after all. 

Believe it or not, Shiro wasn’t the best with tears. Not… not anymore anyways. After years of the harsh natured brutality he’d been through, Shiro had been taught that tears were sure signs of weakness. Reducing one's self to a blubbering mess of sniffles and sobs seemed almost disgraceful to Shiro’s mind. After everything Iverson had taught him. After everything Zarkon had taught him… 

He wasn’t good with tears. 

Shiro didn't want to see Lance with disgust in that moment, yet he couldn’t help the impulsive shame for Lance’s behavior flare up in his system before he tried to put it out. It made his matter all the more awkward. He looked down at his hands, and twiddled his thumbs a bit, still gnawing on the inside of his cheek raw. 

“Lance,” Shiro muttered awkwardly. Lance’s hazy eyes focused immediately on Shiro again, as if he’d just realised he was there. “C’mon… you don’t have to...” He trailed off hopelessly, not really knowing how he intended on finishing that. 

Lance’s brows furrowed and he paused for a moment, attempting to comprehend what Shiro had said. That was when his brain registered the warm tears rolling down his cheeks. He reached up and wiped them away, one eye at a time, looking at the wet splotches on his sleeve. He smiled weakly as he glanced back at Shiro. That’d be the reason why he looked so uncomfortable.   
“No, no, keep talking. You… said about football?” He didn’t want to upset Shiro. He hoped he’d not said anything since football. The last thing he needed was to enrage Shiro for not listening or seeming like he didn’t care. “I think you were, anyway.” He had no way of filtering what he was saying now, anyway. His mouth just worked ahead of his brain, emptying his thoughts without hesitation, even when he was aware it would be a poor choice to voice any of his thoughts right now. “I mean, you’re not supposed to care about me,” especially not this one, wherever it was going, “So i don’t expect you to sympathise or… or anything… So…”

His words failed him. He pushed Blue’s paws off of his lap and stood, tears already dripping down his face again. Even when he wiped them away, they were replaced almost immediately. Why was he even crying? He’d brought this upon himself by being stupid in that factory. He shouldn’t cry. It was pathetic of him to cry over something like this.  
“I’ll head to my room, I think. I mean- you look uncomfortable. I don’t think I’d feel any different if I could…” could comprehend any emotions right now, instead of just feeling numb, “Uhh… never mind. I’ll go.” One foot in front of the other, he began slowly wandering back to his room. 

He’d just lie down, let himself cry and hopefully sleep. Hopefully.

He glanced down to make sure Blue was following and she was at his heel, as expected. The only consistent loyalty he had- that he was allowed to have- was his dog. 

Shiro watched Lance go, desperately groping for words he couldn’t find. Even after Lance’s door had thumped to a close behind him, Shiro still felt a powerless ‘wait’ in his mouth, stuck to his tongue and to his teeth. After a few moments of him struggling for something to say to a man that wasn’t there, Shiro sighed, hung his head, and gave a hushed swear to himself. 

He picked up the remote and turned the television off. God, that ridiculous machine with it’s stupid news channels and sports networks and God damn football!

Frustration built up in Shiro’s chest as the thoughts piled higher. 

Stupid football and stupid news channels and stupid missing persons report with Lance’s stupid face and Lance’s stupid reaction and Lance’s stupid tears! 

Shiro grit his teeth and clenched both his fists, the remote now in a dangerous position as his prosthetic squeezed it a bit too tightly. He didn't really notice it though -- all he felt was that anger grumbling up in his stomach. 

It was all his fault, too. All Shiro’s fault Lance had started crying out of fucking nowhere. If he had taken the time to watch the news that morning instead of writing that stupid list of his none of that shit would have happened. Lance’s story wouldn’t have been on in time. 

God, why did this get him so worked up? Why did the idea of him making Lance cry get beneath his skin? Why? Why did he care so fucking much all of a sudden? 

Upon that striking question in his mind, the remote snapped clean in half. 

Shiro, shocked out of his daze, held the remains of his television remote up to his face, and cocked his head. 

Somehow, the stupid little broken device made him all the more enraged.

“Perfect,” he spat bitterly to himself. “Perfect. Fucking perfect!” 

The last bit had been just a little over a shout as he threw the remote across the room. It hit the wall and bounced back onto the carpet with nothing but an irritating clatter. All it did was frighten the cat, and make Shiro feel incredibly stupid himself. 

Huffing, Shiro turned around on his heel and made his way to his room -- trying not to care. The painting still had been left on the television set. Black padded after him, the hair on her back still a bit raised from the shouting and the noise from earlier. Shiro held the door for her, and then shut it with just the slightest bit too much of a slam. He spun around again, facing his bed, and then looked up towards the ceiling, rubbing his temples. 

You’re gonna get sick so you need medicine. You still need to snoop around Sendak to see if he knows. You still need to find Lance a place to go. You still need to find a way to get him there. And now you need to buy a new remote. 

A new list. He ran it over in his head a few more times, trying to steady his breath. A new list. That’s all. Just things he had to get done. 

With that on his mind, Shiro settled himself on the bed, and rubbed Black’s head in apology. 

Just another list. 

Lance was in bed.

He was lying on his back, his arms folded over his chest, his face entirely neutral as he lay there. He felt… tense? No, tense wasn’t a feeling, it was a sensation. He was aware of his tenseness, of the tears dripping down his face, of how desperate he was for one of Hunk’s hugs and a hot chocolate, but he wasn’t lucky enough to get that. He wasn’t going to get anything he wanted.

He was feeling sad. He could tell that he was feeling sad, otherwise he’d likely not be crying. He could tell he was feeling anxious from how his thoughts had been tuned out to white noise. He could tell he was feeling angry because warmth bubbled up in his chest and he felt the need to punch the walls or curse himself for being pathetic. 

But he felt lonely, too. Even with Blue lying beside him, he felt alone. He felt like nobody would ever be with him willingly, like nobody wanted him around. He’d ruined Shiro’s day after he’d made it better because he couldn’t repress his emotions like he usually did. How pathetic was that?

He stood shortly, though, figuring that his mind wasn’t going to give in enough to let tiredness take over, and pushed open his door.  
“Shiro?” His voice came before he had even thought of calling Shiro. “Shiro?” And again, louder this time. God, did he always sound this whiny? He was like a child after a nightmare, wailing for his mother. “Shiro?” His eyes flickered to the kitchen, making sure it was empty before he arrived outside Shiro’s room. That was when the white noise tuned out a little. He raised his hand to knock on the door before his actions caught up with him. What the fuck was he doing?

Why was he showing up there? Why did he feel the need to come back to Shiro? Why did he wail and whine out his name as he plodded aimlessly to his room when he had no idea what he’d say or what he wanted?  
“Shiro?” He called again, quieter now, only a little above a whisper. He still had no clue what he was doing. Was he still crying? His fingertip ran along his lower eyelid, checking for any fresh tears. His vision wasn’t blurred and his eyes weren’t uncomfortably warm so… no. He mustn’t be crying anymore.

He couldn’t even really figure out what he was going to say. Did he plan on apologising? On thanking him again for saving his life? He didn’t know. He could end up doing neither and just shouting at him or breaking down into tears again. He hoped not.

Maybe he should just go back to his room? He rubbed his eyes a little and grumbled to himself as he turned and began to return to his room. Maybe Shiro was hoping he’d go away and wouldn’t answer the door to him? It wasn’t likely but… he was hoping.

Shiro, in fact, didn't really notice Lance calling him around the third time he had called his name. Even then, Shiro didn't quite believe it had been real. He… he couldn’t quite believe it, really. For what reason would Lance want to talk to him? After how horribly their last interaction had gone? After how awkward and embarrassing Shiro had acted? If the roles had been reversed, Shiro didn't think he’d want to see himself ever again. 

Shiro stood slow-like, and walked over to his door. He put his hand on the knob, and leaned his head forward, straining his ears, listening for Lance. If he’d call again, Shiro would open the door, and, despite his dumbfounded outlook upon the whole situation, ask Lance what it is he wanted. If the apartment remained silent, Shiro would just go back to bed, with another hot coal of self judgement in his stomach. 

A few moments passed, and nothing. Not even the creak of the floorboard. Shiro stood there like an idiot, his brow furrowed and his hearing sharp. Black watched him with narrowed eyes and quick, agitated flicks of her tail, waiting for more pets. 

Shiro was about to give up when he heard the softest voice from outside his bedroom door. 

“Shiro?”

It was barely anything. Just above the softest whisper. It almost sounded as though Lance didn't even want him to hear it. 

Shiro panicked a bit, now gripping the doorknob in his hand. He couldn't quite decide which would be better off for the two of them. He couldn’t quite decide which option would make him feel like an idiot when he would try to fall asleep that night. 

Shiro waited for another sound, going against his morals from earlier.

Footsteps. His cue. 

Slowly, Shiro pulled open the door, and peered out into the hallway. 

“Lance?” Shiro asked, spotting him just outside the guest room door, reaching for the handle. He tried to make his voice gruffer -- gruffer like he didn't care as much as he did. “Did you call me?” 

Lance had just turned and taken a couple of steps back to his room, cursing himself under his breath for thinking of interrupting Shiro and not stopping himself any sooner. Instead of continuing, he grit his teeth and turned back to face him. He wanted to hug him but he knew better than that. Shiro looked like he was the perfect size to hug.

Honestly, he just wanted to have someone that he could hug right now. Maybe that was why he missed Hunk so much already? 

Silent for a few moments, Lance looked up at Shiro and fumbled for the right words. “Sorry,” was the first thing that fell from his lips, an immediate apology for being so embarrassingly emotional and so pathetic with how he’d handled his emotions. “I’m sorry, I should have gone straight to my room but I thought that if I sat with you I could get to know you and… I’d not feel like I was intruding as much,” he really needed to learn to shut up, “But it’s my fault that I started crying and I made you uncomfortable when I did. So I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around himself for a little more comfort and his eyes shot down to the floor again. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting his tongue hard. How pathetic he was.

“I just feel like I’m intruding when I’m here, and you always act like I shouldn’t be here or like you regret not just killing me and I don’t want to be inconvenient or awkward when you’ve done so much for me already and I’m trying really, really hard not to get too emotional or think too much about anyone at home but…” he bit his tongue when he felt tears in his eyes, forcing them back. Not again. Not again. “I don’t think you understand…. Sorry, I’m just dumping this on you. I should head back to my room, I just wanted to apologise.” 

Shiro opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. Like before, he found his words trapped, almost physically painful as they got caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, sighed, and tried his best to get something through. 

“It’s… it’s whatever, man,” he mumbled. “You’re fine. It’s all my fucking fault things got tense anyways. I… I don’t know how…”

To process human emotions?

To comfort someone in need?

To be a regular Goddamn person?

“...To deal with that stuff. You’re fine, Lance. It’s fine.”

What a train wreck. An absolute mess. Shiro cringed inwardly, dreading Lance’s reaction. A few moments passed before Lance comprehended Shiro’s response and he looked up at the other. A grin slowly appeared on his lips and he suddenly stepped forward- his feet still out of Shiro’s room- and wrapped both arms tightly around Shiro. He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart fluttering in his chest.

Shiro, on the other hand, felt his whole system jolt to a jerking stop. He froze, stock still at Lance’s touch. Thoughts left him. Words certainly left him. The only thing that didn't really leave was that bass-like thump of shock still thrumming throughout his chest. 

Lance held him like that for a moment or two before realising what he was doing and taking a couple of steps back and running back to his room, shutting the door behind him. He leant against his, his cheeks red as he realised what he’d done. Shiro had been nice to hug. He was right- Shiro was the perfect size for hugging.

Soon, when he was sure Shiro wasn’t going to kick down his door and shoot him for his affection, Lance settled into bed. He hugged Blue close to himself and nestled into her fur, the thought of Shiro in his arms plaguing him. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t stop thinking about it! Shiro was just… he felt just right.

 

Shiro was frozen at his door, still speechless. Slowly, he lifted his arm and touched his chest -- almost as if in question. 

Was that him? Him? Shiro? Was it really Shiro Lance had been hugging? Why? 

Why?

His fingers curled, scrunching up the slack of his sweatshirt. He thumbed the fabric, feeling the coarse sweatshirt material against his skin, trying to sort everything out in his mind. Lance had just hugged him. Just… just out of the blue. Lance had wrapped his arms about Shiro’s torso, pulled him close and held him tight for over two seconds. Lance had hugged him. 

Was it what he said? Shiro didn't quite know. He could barely even remember what he had said in the first place… it felt as though that had been a while ago. And even then, it had been spluttered and butchered with awkwardness and thoughtlessness. No, it couldn’t have been what he said. 

Maybe that just had been how Lance apologized to people. He was a hugger by nature, probably. It didn't mean anything. Just a friendly, apologetic hug. A forgiving hug, perhaps? 

 

Shiro released his subconscious grip on his sweatshirt, and rubbed his shoulder. 

Yeah. That’s what it was. Just a little hug. Some sort of thankful, apologetic, forgiving sort of hug out of stress and sudden emotion. It was nothing. 

Shiro casted his gaze around, glancing out into the living room. His eyes caught upon the painting he had left on the television stand. He watched it for a second -- that odd state of confusion misting about his senses again. With a sigh, and a quick look towards Lance’s door, Shiro went into the living room, grabbed the painting, and then went back to his room.   
All the while he kept his eyes from the broken remote. 

Black was still on his bed, only now she had been curled up in a comfortable ball, her eyes closed and her tail flicking with building impatience. Shiro went over to her and rubbed on her head, apologizing for leaving. He went over to his dresser, and placed the painting so it leaned up against a dusty framed photo. Shiro looked at it a moment, squinting. He ran his thumb over the dusted glass. 

It was a picture taken from his high school graduation. Past Shiro smiled brightly towards the camera, holding up his Valedictorian certificate with beaming pride. On his left was Matt Holt, an old friend. On his right was…

On his right was Adam. 

Shiro glissed his eyes from Adam to his past smile. He had lost it awhile ago -- the brightness. The innocence. He then turned his attention on the painting. The soft frown and furrowed look Lance had painted him with considered with his graduation picture considerably so. Shiro gave a dismal huff of empty laughter. 

On an impulse, he reached up to the painting, and moved it over to the side, covering up the photograph. No more smile. No more Matt. No more Adam. 

Just the present. 

Shiro went back to his bed, laid back on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling for the next five hours, sleepless for the second night in a row.


	5. Yandere!Sendak x Lotor - 'His Prized Possession'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Lodak story I'm working on with iamthemonsterchild!! Decided to give you a view of chapter one so check my acc if you're interested and want to read more!!
> 
> (also i HATE the word yandere alksjdalks)

It was time.

Finally, finally, the opportune moment to strike had arrived. Patience was a virtue, but Sendak's patience had been running thin as of late.

Four months had been spent incessantly stalking Lotor, pursuing him daily and listening in on conversations he had. Even being close this was a sign of good work after a long period of stalking him online and trying to track down his address in order to find him he couldn't observe him if he had noises where Lotor lived.  
He remembered how he found him.  
It was an idiotic choice, though one everyone makes, to wake up and post a picture of the early morning snow. Not only did it allow Sendak to see the street sign across the road, but also the neighbouring houses so that he could figure out which one it was. From there, the task was of staying unseen.

Days became weeks which turned to months, all of them fruitless. Why was it so hard for Lotor to go somewhere when nobody else was there?  
Then, finally, it happened.

It was a Friday evening, meaning that Lotor would be going through the park to avoid loud or rowdy people in town. Sendak followed, driving a little bit behind him in his black car. Soon, he stopped and got out. There were no security cameras around that area, so it was safe to remove the rag and bottle of chloroform from his pocket.  
Dowsing the rag in the chemicals, Sendak figured that this was the best opportunity that he would get. He matched the pace of his footsteps to Lotor's to prevent being heard and slowly approached. His footsteps were delicate as he attempted to be quiet, whereas Lotor's were heavy and dragged, a sign of exhaustion after a hard day of agonising work. He watched as the male before him ran one hand through his messy hair, knotted and unkempt, and bit back a wave of giddiness. Not yet. The celebration could come later- not yet.

It was only a matter of moments before he was close enough to be noticed, and the second that Lotor began to turn, he snared his arms around him like a trap. One arm was suddenly latched around Lotor's waist to keep him close, watching as he squirmed and thrashed and screamed before the other slid to his mouth, covering it with the rag. He watched his chest stop moving in an attempt to avoid taking in the chemicals, though it was only a matter of time- Sendak had plenty of time- before he gasped for breath through the rag.

Once the chemicals had been inhaled, it was only a matter of time before the weight in his arms slumped and pressed against him entirely. Pressing the rag back into his pocket, Sendak moved one hand to under his knees to hold him up and began taking him back to the car. Now that he had no reason to act any other way, Sendak carried Lotor and held him close, though his grip was gentle like he was dealing with a porcelain doll.

Gently setting him down in the back of the car, Sendak brushed strands of hair out of his beautiful face. He'd waited so long to be able to touch his soft skin or velvety hair. He leant down and delicately pressed his lips to the top of his forehead, feeling his lips tingle with electric excitement. His eyes were filled with a sick and obsessive love as he pulled back, his fingers curling around Lotor's wrist. He grasped his wrists and a lavender ribbon, tightly restraining his delicate little wrists.  
Pressing a kiss to the bow on the ribbons, he murmured an apology for the damage that the restraints may cause or for the redness of the skin that would dirty his perfect image.

Not needing to focus on aesthetics for his ankles, Sendak tied them together with rope. Shutting the door, he moved back and got into the car behind the wheel. Glowing with pride from being so successful, he began driving back home.

-

It was a long, long time before he arrived at his manor. It was buried deep amongst acres of trees, the road to get there full of complicated twists and turns and dead-ends to prevent any other wandering drivers from discovering it. The last thing he needed if he were trying to subdue a screaming and disobedient Lotor would be a witness or someone who would call the police. He parked outside the manor steps and opened the back of the car. The tinted windows had meant nobody could see Lotor. There was no way to open the windows in the back of the car, either, meaning that his new partner would have had no way of escaping him. 

Gently lifting Lotor into his arms, the male approached the white manor steps. It was a grand house with three layers, an attic, and a basement. The outside was painted white with flowers growing along the sides to prevent it from looking overly sinister. There were frequent windows, each of which had flowers growing underneath them, and the walls were painted white with black wooden bars simply for the aesthetic.  
Sendak unlocked the front entrance, a double-door with no windows, and pushed the doors open. He stepped inside, using his heel to kick the door shut behind him.

 

The decoration inside was bland. This floor, the base floor, would be one that Lotor would someday be allowed to roam around on freely. The corners of furniture had been filed down to make a dull curve to avoid Lotor harming himself accidentally, and there were no breakable objects that hadn't been fixed somehow to the surface that they were on. Essentially, Sendak had baby-proofed the entire house to avoid letting Lotor come to any harm. After all, the last thing he needed was for his songbird to come to harm that Sendak didn't inflict.

Sendak, pushing the basement door open, began carrying Lotor down the stairs. He was careful not to lose his balance or stumble, clutching Lotor to his chest as he brought him into the basement. A pole in the centre already had cuffs for one ankle to be hooked to it. Setting him on the floor, lying by the pole on a thin blanket, Sendak cuffed his ankle to the pole and pulled back.

Kneeling down beside Lotor, Sendak brushed his hair back and tied it up out of the way. He wanted to see his perfect face and he didn't want the hair getting any less appealing. He looked at him, smiling fondly. He'd never seen anyone so gorgeous, with long white locks that bounced and curled, resting on his hips. His skin was dark and smooth, lacking any damage or unsightly scars. Deep blue eyes captured him and made his heart swell, filling his mind with thoughts of his own sickly desires. Everything about him was so perfect. It was infatuating.

-

Lotor stirred.

His eyes, slowly, opened and he let out a soft groan in agony. His head hurt. His vision was slightly foggy. He attempted to move his hand to prop himself up on, only to find that his wrists were tightly tied together. Gasping, wide-eyed, all tiredness fell away and he managed to somehow get on his knees. He looked around, his eyes reflecting fear and confusion. Where was he? He remembered...

He remembered walking home. He could vaguely recall the park and the seclusion, the shadow approaching silently behind him and turning. Then there was panic, screaming, and unconsciousness when a sweet smell polluted his mind. Had he been chloroformed? He glanced around, squinting as he tried to survey the area. Gnawing on his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on the figure of a male across the room. It was only a silhouette, but it was still clear. Shuddering, he decided to speak. "Who are you?!" Anger masked the fear that threatened to make him cry or scream or make his voice feeble and tremble. 

The figure began approaching and he could almost feel himself regret speaking. He felt so small as this male, approximately 6'4" and incredibly muscular, stood a metre away from him.

"Watch your tongue." His voice was sharp and cold, and now that he stood in the light, Lotor could see him clearly. The man's skin was paler than his own, One eye was covered with a black eyepatch and a long, jagged scar tore through his skin from a little above his eyebrow to below his cheekbone. His unobscured eye was the deep green of a forest, cold though full of... some emotion Lotor couldn't place. His face was sharp and smooth with defined cheekbones and a smooth jawline. His hair, black, was slicked back although a strand fell loose on occasion. His left hand was a prosthetic, though Lotor wasn't sure whether that would be just the hand or the entire arm.

He caught his voice, narrowing his observing eyes into a glare as he latched them onto the visible eye. "Tell me who you are!"

Sendak loved the feistiness. "My name is irrelevant." He knelt down to be more at eye-height with Lotor. "You're going to call me master until you deserve to know my name." Lotor's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth in anger.  
"Like hell, I will! I'll call you a pig if you're going to have any nickname because you'll never be my 'master', but you'll always be a pig!"

A loud rumble of a laugh escaped Sendak. He pulled his prosthetic hand back and slammed it into Lotor's face, watching it collide with his jaw. He hardly wanted to bruise him and damage his perfect skin, but he hadn't a choice. Bruises would heal, though. The last thing he wanted to permanently damage (much) was his face.

Lotor's eyes widened as pain shot through his cheek and jaw. His head snapped to the side upon impact and he trembled slightly. That had hurt a lot for just a punch. He bit his tongue to force back tears that stung his eyes and threatened to spill. Turning his gaze to Sendak after a few moments to recover, he forced his glare to stay. "Fuck. You." Another punch made him cry out, falling onto his side this time. He curled up slightly, covering his face with his arms. Despite wanting to keep this up and show that he would never comply, he stayed silent.

Only when he was sure that 'master' had calmed down did he dare to speak again.  
"If I'm here for ransom," his voice was soft, but still so full of anger and hatred. "Then you'll need to find someone else. There's not a chance in hell that my family will give you money for me," he remarked lazily, still curled up tightly, just in case.

A grin curled onto Sendak's lips. "Money is irrelevant, Lotor," he spoke in a purr as he looked at the male, whose eyes widened in surprise. Must be from Sendak knowing his name. "You're here because you're plenty valuable."

Not only was that comment incredibly worrying, but it was also insanely creepy. Lotor, keeping his gaze off of the intimidating older male, decided to begin studying the wall opposite him. Anything was better than looking at the man stood before him.

Kneeling down, Sendak's hand grabbed ahold of Lotor's jaw to force the male to look at him. "Oh, look at you. So weak like this. You're usually so feisty, Lotor, what happened?" He brought him slightly closer, making him squirm and turn his head to get out of his hold. Tightening his grip, Sendak pushed Lotor down and was quick to be atop of him, straddling his hips.

Face flushing, Lotor began to squirm and thrash in an attempt to get the man off of him. It was an idiotic attempted. Impatient as he pulled out the blade from his back pocket, Sendak moved one hand to grip Lotor's hair and tug it, forcing his head to tip up. His other hand, the one holding his scalpel, pressed to the cheek of the submissive's face. A soft whine dragged out from Lotor's throat and he was quick to go still. The submission, to Sendak, was almost arousing. He was so quick to be well-behaved when he began to feel threatened. Licking his lips as he dug the tip of the blade into his skin.

Biting his lip to hold back a whine of pain, Lotor squeezed his eyes shut. The man wouldn't hurt him badly, right? Had he meant valuable physically or emotionally?  
The thoughts were forced away when the blade began slowly moving, slicing through skin painfully though gracefully and deriving a soft wail of agony from the restrained male. Shuddering at the delicious sound, Sendak had to force himself not to continue. One long slice was made down the side of the male's cheek, thin and running from below his cheekbone to where his jaw below the corner of his mouth. Blood began to slowly gather from inside the open would.

It gathered into small beads on his skin before the weight of the blood was too much and it broke form, dribbling down his skin in a crooked line. 

The streaks of red mesmerised Sendak. How could someones /blood/ look so beautiful? It was as if Lotor was the definition of inner beauty. And outer beauty. Just beauty in general. Absently, he leant in and let his tongue glide slowly over the wound.

Coppery, the taste of blood filled his mouth while Lotor’s quiet whimpers filled his ears. Finally pulling away, blood smeared slightly onto his lower lip, he met eyes with his victim.

Lotor, quite evidently, had yet to learn his lesson from Sendak’s abuse. He began shouting once more, threats and insults spilling from his open would like blood from his cut. Without hesitation, Sendak had him pinned down by the throat and was squeezing tightly. God, he was frustrating to have to tolerate. He preferred it when Lotor was /himself/, more relaxed and calm and generally more pleasant company. He sighed softly while the male thrashed beneath him, kicking his legs and letting out breathless pleads between wheezing gasps for breath. God, Sendak yearned to feel Lotor’s writhing slowly stop as his oxygen ran out. He wanted Lotor to be at his mercy, desperate for approval to avoid consequences for poor behaviour. Nonetheless, he slinked his hands back. Bruises would soon form on Lotor’s skin where Sendak’s fingers and thumbs had dug into the skin.

He moved away, still straddling Lotor but now sitting up properly. One hand ran through his hair to brush it from his face as he recollected himself.

Lotor, beneath him, gasped for breath. Tears were spilling from his eyes, a sign of weakness, but it felt good to get air back into his lungs. He was gasping for breath, his chest heavily, soon closing his eyes to divert all his focus onto regulating his breaths. He felt an unfamiliarly cold, metal hand tip his head up and cold fingertips running along his neck. He shuddered, his eyes squeezing shut tighter. It didn’t bring back pleasant memories to be treated like this.

Upon noticing the change in Lotor’s breathing, from steady and deep breaths to shallow hyperventilating, he pulled back. He hauled Lotor up by his shirt, making the male sit up. He was reluctant to leave the male’s side but could tell that he was in no state to tolerate further abuse like this. Sendak, irate and tense upon finding that his object of infatuation wasn’t too keen on his current living situation. He hadn’t intended on causing discontent or upset, but he just seemed to have a remarkable ability to cause or evoke it wherever he went.

-

It was a long time before Sendak came back. He figured that, due to Lotor’s already poor state, his presence wouldn’t help him while Lotor experienced a severe panic attack. Besides- Sendak was aware of the past abuse that had set it off. His threatening presence would do anything but help.

It was approximately two hours before he returned, now brandishing a bowl of flavourless porridge and water. Lotor had yet to earn good-food privileges. The tenseness in the room had faded since Sendak had left.

His attention turned to Lotor, though, who was curled up. He’d somehow gotten to a sitting position, now hugging his knees to his chest as best as he could with his wrists tied. His face was buried behind his knees but he soon looked up, eyes red and puffy after crying. He looked paler than usual, still stricken with fear, and his first instinct was to shuffle away from Sendak and his tray. He couldn’t see from where he was sat that it was harmless food, but Sendak didn’t let it get to him. Lotor was afraid, fear was normal. Fear was exactly what Sendak had expected upon abducting Lotor. With his past, the anger should also have been a pretty obvious reaction, yet Sendak hadn’t expected it. That had caught him off-guard, but nothing else.

Now that they had introduced themselves to each other- well, Lotor still didn’t know Sendak’s name, but that was an irrelevant detail- Sendak didn’t need to be so patient or demanding of his authority. Lotor had already gotten the hint. Instead, he sat a metre away from Lotor, setting the tray down between them both. He held up both hands, one of which held a small knife. Sharp, but it wasn’t for cutting skin.  
“You need to eat,” he said softly, keeping his hands still beside his head. He wanted to show Lotor that he had no intent of hiding anything from him and that he wasn’t going to hurt him. Not without him being able to expect it. “Hold out your hands. I’ll cut the ribbon away- I did the knot too tightly to undo it without the knife. If you agree, I will allow you to eat without being fed. I will restrain your wrists again,” he paused to slowly move his free hand to his pocket, taking out more lilac ribbon. Lotor’s wide and wary eyes followed his every movement but his tension eased as he saw that Sendak, seemingly, had no ill intent. “With this when you have finished eating. I may remove the restraints on your legs if you wish to go to the bathroom.”

There were a few moments of still silence.

Lotor, his eyes suddenly latching onto Sendak’s knife, held out his arms. It was one swift movement and the sound of fabric tearing before Lotor tugged his wrists back. Rubbing the red and raw skin, his gaze flickered nervously from Sendak to the food and back. He had no choice but to trust that it was harmless food. Refusal to eat could be considered disobedience and result in any kinds of abuse, physical or verbal.

Sensing the obvious discomfort, Sendak let out a soft sigh. “It’s just porridge, okay? If I wanted to drug or poison you, you’d know. I’m not /that/ cold,” he said blandly, watching as the smaller male, hesitant for obvious reasons, picked up the spoon and got himself a spoonful of porridge. Slowly, he brought it to his lips and forced himself to eat it. As soon as it had passed the taste-test and Lotor could safely say that it was nothing but the porridge it was promised to be, he began to wolf it down. Lotor couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten but he was honestly just thankful for the food now.

Sendak watched with a fond gaze. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most attractive thing he’d seen in his life, but even with his mouth stuffed with porridge, he looked absolutely adorable. It was a short while before the empty bowl was set aside, an empty glass soon joining it. Sendak watched Lotor wipe porridge from his lips. A few moments of silence passed, Sendak looking expectantly at Lotor, before the smaller cleared his throat and wiped his mouth once more.  
“Thank you. F-For the food,” he mumbled passively, averting his gaze. Sendak could almost sense the shame from where he was sat. Satisfying.

Merely nodding in response, Sendak took initiative to change the subject.  
“Some rules for your permanent stay,” he began as he looked at the male sitting opposite him. This caught the attention of the smaller, who slowly turned his gaze onto the older. “First off, you will begin to call me ‘Master’ as you are supposed to, regardless of whether or not you like it. Secondly, if you want something, then presume that it would be best to beg for it. On your best behaviour, you will receive a shower tomorrow evening and a proper bedroom that night. Failure to behave appropriately will do nothing but put you in a worse situation.” He moved closer, but stopped upon seeing Lotor flinch. Sure, fear was the best way to derive obedience, but he would only push it to a certain extent. He still wanted Lotor to like him, no matter how long it would take.

Stockholm syndrome would take effect in it’s own time, and Sendak had all the time in the world.


End file.
